


roots, the other, wings

by MostDismalFeldsparkle (Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adoption, Gender Non-Conforming Crowley (Good Omens), Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, M/M, Past Domestic Violence, Past Sex Work, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Sibling Death, Weight Issues, good omens human au, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:36:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle/pseuds/MostDismalFeldsparkle
Summary: Embattled by his grief stricken orphaned nephew, and still standing in the ashes of an awful relationship, Aziraphale, in need of a gardener, emails Crowley’s of Eden.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 251
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... new story. I’m going to try longer chapters, less frequent updates this time.
> 
> Special thanks to Henryharrylarry for being an invaluable sounding board, pep squad, and occasional Brit Picker for this story.
> 
> Content advisory: Sibling death, adoption, religiously based homophobia, abuse and homophobia voiced by a child, aftermath of a residential fire, domestic abuse, vague description of a lethal accident, homophobic slurs, negative self talk, negative self image, alcohol consumption

Aziraphale held his breath, and watched, as Adam’s face contorted into a mask of fury.

“This is all your fault!” the child howled. “If you’d been _nicer_ to him, you wouldn’t have broken up, and he wouldn’t have _done_ this. Now, my mother’s garden is ruined, _forever_ , and I hate you, and I wish _you_ were dead, instead of her, and I _hate_ you!”

  
  


You said ‘ _I hate you_ ’ twice, Aziraphale thought, leadenly, at the slammed door.

  
  


The door opened. “And, I _know_ I said ‘I hate you’ twice, I did it on _purpose_ , because that’s how much _I hate you_! I wish you were dead! Dead! Dead!” Adam screamed, before the door slammed again.

Aziraphale refused to be reduced to slumping to the floor, so he forced himself to slump on the sofa. On what his sister had insisted on calling the ‘living room set’, As in “ _Aziraphale don’t! That’s the new living room set. Let’s sit in the kitchen._ ”

  
  


She had been the kind of woman to assume that ‘the gay lifestyle’ would somehow ooze into the fabric and leave all sorts of invisible stains.

Well, it was _Aziraphale’s_ fucking living room set, now.

Or rather, _Adam’s_ living room set, and Aziraphale’s Adam, now.

“Who the fuck leaves their eleven-year-old to their gay brother, but doesn’t let their gay brother sit on their sofa?” Gabriel had mused, seemingly lightly.

“My sister, that’s who...” Aziraphale had muttered, grief-stricken, and distracted, lulled by Gabriel’s seemingly light tone.

  
  


A sharp slap across the face had followed, a dull thud of the back of his head colliding with the wall.

Aziraphale had distracted himself by observing the differences between the two sets of pain - _compare and contrast_ \- and so he’d missed the substance of the lecture. Not that he’d needed it.

  
  


_Watch your tone with me, sunshine!_

  
  


From there, it unfolded, with an air of inevitability.

Adam hated Aziraphale,  
Adam worshiped Gabriel,  
Gabriel resented Adam,  
Gabriel took out his resentment on Aziraphale.

A strange, ugly ballet.

The overture was Azrael’s death. Then, that _baffling_ will.

The curtain rose.

Until, inevitably, Gabriel struck Adam, and Aziraphale had _HAD_ to kick him out.

And then, Adam had hated Aziraphale more.

Gabriel had moved out. Had lied to all their friends. All Gabriel’s friends.

Had threatened.

Had stalked.

Had drunk dialled.

And had, last night, doused Azrael’s prized garden with kerosene, or something equally smelly, and set it on fire.

  
  


Adam had howled louder than the fire engines. The police had been hostile. _It was clearly arson. Was Aziraphale short of money? Who was their insurance provider?_

  
  


“But, we were _IN_ the house!” Aziraphale had stammered, repeatedly, as if the police officer had simply not understood. “ _In_ the house!”

  
  


He was in shock, he realised later. It had all felt, so much, like the accident. One moment, Azrael sitting across from him, _al fresco_ , cleaning the cutlery, suspiciously, with a napkin. The next moment, broken glass, twisted metal, screaming.

  
  


And Azrael, gone.

  
  


“We were _in the house_!” he had pleaded, again. “My nephew and I. We could have...”

“Your information regarding your ex-boyfriend has been noted,” the officer had replied, shortly, in a tone suggesting the conversation had better be over.

Aziraphale shook off the memory and ran his fingers through his hair. There was ash under his fingernails, for some reason. Then, he took a deep breath, and knocked, on the slammed door.

  
  


“Adam, dear boy, I am _sorry_ about the garden. I... I can’t turn back time, but... but, we have plenty of photos. We can put it right, just as it was... we can...”

“We can’t!” Adam howled. “Didn’t you see the salt shakers? He literally _SALTED_ the earth!”

Aziraphale sighed. “I mean... yes... that was the metaphor... but... it was only two salt canisters... I don’t think that would be enough to ruin the whole garden, forever... We’ll rinse it out, a bit, and...”

“God! You are useless! _SO_ stupid! And, you don’t know anything about plants. My mother said you don’t know anything about anything, except sodomy, and you can’t be any good at that, or Gabriel wouldn’t have left!”

Aziraphale counted slowly to ten under his breath. Counted slowly to eleven, and reminded himself that eleven wasn’t terribly old to be.

“I do have a masters degree, Adam,” he replied at last, allowing just a little sharpness into his voice. “And, it is _not_ a masters degree in sodomy...”

  
  


“It’s not a masters degree in horticulture, either? Is it?” Adam snapped. “So, what use are you?”

  
  


“We can hire a gardener. Or rather a landscaper? Something of that nature, anyway...”

To Aziraphale’s shock the door opened. Adam stood, still holding the door, ashen-faced. “You can’t! You’d need the insurance money, and you _CAN’T!_ Didn’t you hear that police officer? Weren’t you even listening? What if you get arrested for insurance fraud? What will happen to me, if you get arrested?”

_You wanted me dead, five minutes ago_ , Aziraphale thought, but did not say.

“Well, I....”

“No!” Adam roared, running at him, his fists pounding at his chest. “Stupid! Stupid!”

Aziraphale’s body perceived the attacker as a forty-nine-year-old, 6 foot 1, fitness-obsessed accountant, and not a slight, eleven-year-old orphan. He only barely restrained himself from striking back, and it terrified him.

And Adam kept screaming. “ _Stupid_!”

“Stop,” Aziraphale insisted, firmly. “Adam, stop.”

Whether some part of Adam was capable of listening, or whether he merely wore himself out, Aziraphale was not sure. But, the fists stopped, and a clawing, resentful, hugging began.

  
  


Sobbing.

“It’s all right, Adam,” Aziraphale murmured, his chest smarting more than it should be, and not believing a word that was coming from his own mouth. “It will be all right. We’ll fix this.”

  
  


He looked around the hall, for moral support.

There was a grisly crucifix, and John 3:16 screen-printed onto a canvas. Not the verse, mind you. Just ‘ _John 3:16_.’

  
  


_I hate his house_ , Aziraphale thought, miserably. _I miss my flat._

There was an angry, northern man, who handed out fliers, on the corner, across from Aziraphale’s book shop. Unpleasant, apocalyptic stuff, about witches and fornicaters. 

_Shadwell_ , that was it.

  
Shadwell had told Aziraphale he was making a rod for his own back, moving into his sister’s house.

  
  


“You should _make_ him come and live with _you_ ,” he had grumbled, thrusting unwanted flyers into Aziraphale’s hands. “You’ll be fighting uphill for respect. Ye mark my words!”

“But, he’s only a child! He’s lost his mother...”

“Aye! And, his whole life has changed, with her loss. And, there’s no use coddling him, and pretending otherwise! Start as ye intend to finish!”

“I _intend_ to start, and finish, with _kindness_ ,” Aziraphale had snapped.

  
Shadwell had just chuckled. He’d been laughing then, and he would be laughing, if he could see Aziraphale, now.

  
  


“Adam... why don’t you... play some of your video game? Craft some of your Mines? Maybe think about a nap? We did have quite a night...”

  
  


Adam released Aziraphale, as if suddenly remembering he was toxic, marched back into his room, and slammed the door.

  
  


Aziraphale exhaled. He walked outside, again, to survey the damage.

  
  


Some neighbours were glaring at it, too. “You know it can’t stay like that, don’t you?” one neighbour snapped.

  
  


“I’ll be getting it redone,” Aziraphale replied, with a doomed attempt at false cheeriness.

  
  


“You’d better be quick about it! Our Kylie is having her 21st, next month, and I don’t want this eyesore ruining any pictures!”

  
  


“I’ll get right on it, I assure you!” Aziraphale snapped some pictures of the damage, on his phone, in order to avoid talking to the neighbours, until they got bored, and wandered off together, presumably to further insult him, out of his ear shot.

Then, he went inside.

_Three emails_ , he bargained with himself. _I can do three emails. Three emails today, three tomorrow, and we will see where we are._

He googled ‘landscaper gardener near me’.

  
  


He emailed Elysian Outdoors, Colmslie Gardens, and Crowley’s of Eden.

  
  


He put down his phone, and rested his head on Azrael’s kitchen table.

  
  


“How _will_ you get all the gay out of the wood grain, Azrael, dear?” he murmured.

  
  


He pictured her, sitting across from him glaring. _You could at least use a coaster for your fat head_ , the apparition muttered.

“Enjoying Hell, are we?” Aziraphale muttered back.

Azrael’s dead eyes darkened. _My son loved that garden_ , she hissed. _And, I did to. You couldn’t keep it alive for six months._

“Perhaps, the bloody garden has moved downstairs? Is it in Hell, with you now, dear sister? Have you checked with whichever devil Beelzebub put aside for you? And, as for your son... I’m doing my best, all right? And, you could have _asked,_ before you left me his guardian. I’d have said yes, but at least, if you’d _asked_...”

_Then what?_

Then, I’d know _why_.

His email alert buzzed. _Crowley’s of Eden_. From the man himself, apparently, offering to drop by, for a quote, that afternoon.

Aziraphale replied, setting the appointment, barely bothering to rouse himself from his daze.

“There, I’m fixing it. I’m fixing the garden. I’ve got a quote, so you can stop...”

_Stop what?_

“Staring at me...”

_I’m dead, Aziraphale, you are staring at yourself._

“Staring at myself, AND getting pervert germs all over your precious kitchen table!”

_Go to hell, brother._

“Save me a spot, sister.”

* * *

Someone was pounding.

On a door.

Nearby.

Aziraphale swung towards awareness, lifting his head off the table- the kitchen table- and blinked, furiously.

He’d fallen asleep.

He glanced at the clock.

It would be this gardener fellow.

He rubbed his eyes. They felt crusty. He didn’t remember crying.

Hopefully, he’d got most of it.

He opened the door.

“What the hell happened here, then?!”

The voice was friendly, the figure slim and curlicue, the hair fire-engine red. The eyes hidden by vaguely Victorian glasses.

  
Aziraphale _usually_ spoke four languages.

At this particular moment, however, he spoke zero languages. “Ahh....”

  
  


The man, this sibilant landscaper, shifted from one foot to another, as if attempting to physically restart the conversation. “Did I wake you?”

  
  


“How did you know?” Aziraphale admitted, miserably.

“Well... I mean, this was a fire? Your garden was on fire, last night, so, you probably had a rough night. Also, you look a bit bleary? Also, half your face is red, like you fell asleep on a hard surface...”

  
  


Aziraphale flushed.

“... Oh, look at that! The red has evened out, now! I’m Anthony, by the way. Tony, if you can’t handle three syllables. Try Ant, and I will pretend I can’t hear you.”

  
  


“I’m Aziraphale. So, I’m not likely to complain about ‘Anthony’...and yes. It was a long night, and, I’m afraid, you did catch me napping...”

Anthony paused, considered him. The middle of his eyebrows tilted up. It was hard to tell, through the glasses, but it may have been sympathy. “I could come back another time? Once you’ve had a chance to recover? Maybe, when you wife is home?”

  
Aziraphale snorted. “My dear fellow, _nobody_ has mistaken me for straight for at least thirty years...”

  
Anthony smirked. “My mistake. More than willing to come back, though. Any time you like..?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Aziraphale murmured. “You’ve come all this way. Do pardon me, just having some trouble shaking out the cobwebs, as it were.”

  
  


“Want a hand?” Anthony chirped. “I’m good at cobwebs. Shaken out many a cobweb, me. Cobweb-shaking something of a specialty....”

_Oh, good lord, is he flirting?_

The possibility almost hurt. Aziraphale ached for... well, for _connection_ , really... but, _sex_ would be a very welcome substitute. Especially quick-talking, sibilant, flame-haired sex, with...

  
  


“So, this is the garden!” Aziraphale forced out, cheerfully. “You’re quite right, there was a bit of a fire. And, I need it put back, as close as possible, to those pictures I sent you. My sister... my _late_ sister grew it, and her son is... her eleven-year-old is... well, _devastated_. And... well...well, he’s eleven, and devastated, and I’m his guardian, so what I need... what I really need, right now, is for someone to... fix this garden.”

  
  


Anthony smiled, breezily. “Then, this garden must be fixed! I will email you a quote, and...”

  
“Just to... just to be clear, I’ve emailed some other businesses for quotes, as well,” Aziraphale stammered. “I... see, I... there’s a problem with making an insurance claim... it... well, it was arson... not _MY arson_ , mind you. I’d never... I mean... “

“Funny word, isn’t it?” Anthony trilled, smiling widely now. “ _Arson_.” He spoke the word like he was seducing it.

  
  


“My Ex! My ex did it! Started the fire. I have an eleven-year-old, and an ex that burns things!”

  
“You should definitely get other quotes, Angel, Don’t worry on that account. Who else did you call, if you don’t mind me asking? “

“Erm... Colmslie Gardens...”

“Yeah?”

“...and, Elysian something? Elysian Fields?”

“Elysian Outdoors. Yeah, I know them, too. Get your quotes, Angel. But, I’ll definitely be the cheapest of the three. If you want some _competitive_ quotes, if you don’t mind the advice, try Lotus over in Acton, or John Brickleridge. But, I’ll still be the cheapest...”

Aziraphale smiled. “But, how can you possibly know that?”

Anthony crinkled his nose and leaned forward, almost whispering. “Because, I am really, really eager to see you again.”

Aziraphale gawped at him. “But, I have an eleven-year-old and an ex who burns things.”

  
  


Anthony nodded. “Yeah. I know. I heard you. Well, I’ll be off, then. Watch out for my email!”

  
  


Aziraphale watched him leave. Closely. With very mixed feelings about it.

* * *

Anathema drank another mouthful of riesling. “This one.”

  
  


Aziraphale glanced at the printout she waved at him. “Ahh.”  
  


“What? It’s the cheapest!”  
  


“I didn’t ask you to help, because I was incapable of identifying the cheapest, Anathema,” Aziraphale sighed, gulping some of the wine himself. “I was...”

“What?”

  
  


“I was hoping you’d find an excuse to... go with _someone else_...”

“Why?”

“Because... because. _Adam_ , and... and...”

  
  


“What? The dude is creepy? If your instincts don’t trust him around Adam, then you don’t _NEED_ a reason to...”

“No! _No_! It’s not that. I don’t trust him around me! No wait, that’s backwards... I don’t trust me around him, Anathema! I’m... I’m _tempted_...”

“Tempted, as in...?” Ana nodded suggestively.

“ _As in_.”

“Then, I _definitely_ pick this one!”

Aziraphale groaned. “Ana, I can’t! I’m a _parent_ , now. Just getting out of a long-term relationship. Adam is still devastated about his mother, AND about Gabriel. I can’t just...”

“You CAN just, though, Az! You can! You’re single. Why not just... have some fun? Lord knows, you’ve earned it.”

“Fun! Fun? I don’t DO fun. I’ve _never_ done fun. Only, Ana? This man... honestly... if you’d seen him...”

Ana swirled her wine. “Sex on legs?”

“Oh, I wish! Sex on legs would be manageable! This man’s legs were... also sex. So, he was sex, on sex. Just standing there. In my garden... No! In _Azrael’s_ garden. In _Adam’s_ garden. The ruined ashes of Adam’s garden, just smiling at me. The smile he had on, that was sex, too. I felt like a bloody teenager. In more ways than one, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity. And it was... well, it’s been a while.”

“It has. You broke up with Gabe, what? Ten weeks ago?”

“... _longer_ than that.”

Ana raised her eyebrows. “You two weren’t...? I mean, I know your sister had just died...”

“No, that’s not what I meant. We were... or _he_ was...”

“Wait? Gabe was _cheating as well_?”

“No. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. But... Ana, things got a... wait... what do you mean, ‘ _as well’ ? I_ wasn’t cheating!”

Ana sighed. “I mean, cheating _as well as hitting you_ , Az. And yeah, I knew. Sorry, hon, but you aren’t half as good at using concealer as you think you are.”

  
  


It took Aziraphale, what felt like a long time, to speak. “You never said...”

  
  


“Well, I wasn’t about to give you makeup tips, was I? I mean, if you want help with a smoky eye, I’m your girl, Az. But, I wasn’t going to help with... I did _try_ to get you to open up. You always _insisted_ everything was fine.”

  
  


Aziraphale sighed. “I... I thought I could... I don’t know. I thought, it wasn’t one of _those_ relationships. It was just... I know, I can be difficult. But, with Adam here... I... I don’t want to _talk_ about it. Can we get back to the gardener? Only, it’s the same conversation, isn’t it? Because, Gabe hadn’t made me feel like that, for years... and.... oh... never mind. Just, help me pick another quote, please?”

Anathema downed more wine. “Aziraphale, you don’t need my help to pick out _the second cheapest quote_. I think, you really asked for my help, because you want me to tell you it’s okay to be hot for the gardener. So...here it comes. Az, it’s okay to be hot for the gardener. Assuming the gardener is into it, it’s okay to _flirt_ with the gardener. It’s even okay to go back to the gardener’s place, and have dirty, sweaty sex, with the gardener. I will even babysit.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Really? _Babysit_? Did you hit your head, and forget what happened last time?”

  
  


“Did I forget that your antichrist nephew wrote ‘ _Thou shall not suffer a witch to live_ ’, on my face, in Sharpie, while I slept? No! Now, _that_ required some quality concealer work! Sorry. Shitty joke. I’m drunk. But, yeah. I’ll babysit, for the noble purpose of getting you laid. I have the little shit’s number, now....”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Right... but... what if he wasn’t _actually_ flirting? What if it’s all in my head?”

“Then, you get your garden fixed for the minimum price, and then, you go to bars, and look for someone else who makes you feel the same way...”

“Go to _bars_?”

“Fine! _Pubs_! Whatever they are called here...”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I can’t pick up men in bars...”

“Fine. I’ll try to break your toilet, when I, inevitably, throw up this wine. And then, you can flirt with plumbers!”

  
  


“I don’t think you’re as drunk as you’re pretending to be, Ana...”

  
  


Ana sniffed. “Had a shit day. I’m rounding up. I’m _hopefully anticipating_ my future drunkenness, if I can, pretty please, crash here tonight?”

  
  


“Oh fine, it’s a big bed. And, it’s hard to sleep alone, anyway. Too quiet. Only, don’t let Adam see. It will confuse him...”

  
  


Ana scoffed and poured wine. “He’s eleven. And he was raised by a woman who, _though may she Rest In Peace_ , would have looked down her nose at the Puritans, for being too rowdy. The sooner he’s _confused_ , the better, if you ask me.”

  
  


“Ana, he’s grieving.”

  
  


“I know, Az. Which is why I let the sharpie thing go.”  
  


Aziraphale pouted. “You _didn’t_ let it go, You left an effigy in his room.”  
  


“It was a corn-dolly!” Ana replied, expansively. “They are harvest blessings. It was a peace offering!”

  
  


“He thinks it was an effigy. He burnt it.”

  
  


Ana giggled. “Oh, that’s not good. He’s gone and pissed off Demeter.”

  
  


“Go to bed, Ana!”

  
  


“But, I’m not drunk yet!”

  
  


“Fine. Take the bottle with you!”

  
  


“Then, what will you drink? Are you holding out on me? Where’s the good stuff?”

  
  


“He has long hair...”

  
  


“Who does? The gardener?”

  
  


“It’s _beautiful_. Like Titian painted it. It was sort of half-up, but also...”

  
  


“If you don’t call him, I will...”

  
  


“... I suppose he _might_ have been bi...”

  
  


“For YOU, you no-hoper! I’m calling him, for you... fuck... I’m calling him now... where’s my phone?”

There was a slightly wobbly scuffle.

  
  


Ana shouted...

“Az accepts your quote, and thinks Titian painted your hair!”

...into a voice mail.

  
  


Aziraphale snatched his phone... too late.

“Nobody checks voicemail, anyway,” he sniffed. “It’s 2021! And you, dear lady, are a _harridan_.”

  
  


Ana nodded, unsteadily. “A harridan _AND_ your only babysitter.”

  
  


Aziraphale rubbed his face. “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for the week!
> 
> Content Advisory: Homophobia voiced by a child, internalized fat phobia, references to past domestic violence, a character’s PTSD is triggered

There was a knock on the door, at 7am

  
  


Aziraphale  _definitely_ did _not_ check his reflection in the toaster, before answering.  
  


It was _him_.  
  


More of that beautiful hair was in a bun today, although a few tendrils artfully framed his face.

_  
  
_

_(Az accepts your quote and thinks Titian painted your hair!)  
  
_

_Bloody Anathema._

Aziraphale tried to wrap his lips around a ‘good morning’, but, it wasn’t happening. His lips were distracted by hair tendrils.  
  


“I have voice-to-text,” Crowley said. “Voice mail, I mean. I get my voice mail sent to me as texts. The voice-to-text does not know who Titian is. I was very, very confused.”  
  


Aziraphale swallowed. “So few voice-to-text algorithms get their Art History degrees, these days.”  
  


It had sounded cleverer in his head.   
  


But, Crowley grinned, lowered his chin, and tucked a hair tendril behind his ear. “Lazy fucks!”

  
  


“Yes, please.... I mean, what?”  
  


“The algorithms. Skipping out on their art history degrees. Taking gap years. Kids these days,” Crowley supplied, helpfully. His eyes were huge.

Aziraphale’s spine had been replaced by mint jelly. Very specifically mint jelly.

“Speaking of.... I have to take my kid to school. And work. Him to school. Me to work. I work. He doesn’t. I don’t send him down coal mines, or anything. Not that I work down a coal mine, either. I work in a shop. I mean, I own a shop, and I work there. It’s a book shop. I... books.”

“And I garden!” Crowley replied, his eyes if possible even larger and his eyebrows stratospheric. “So, I shall garden, while you... book.”

“I... um...” Aziraphale’s brain snatched for something to follow ‘um’. Preferably, something with a verb in it. “Do I leave you a key? So you can get inside, while I’m out... err booking?”

“Inside..?”

“For.... if you want tea, and to use the lavatory. And to put your lunch in the fridge, and.... there’s biscuits?” 

Crowley blinked at him. “I... you don’t have to? Often, people...”

“I’ll give you a key! And... and... come in, actually! I can show you... where the tea is. And mugs. And... hand towels? Sorry. I’ve never had a gardener, before. I’ve never had a garden, before. I’ve had a window box, and I’d put those little potted herbs from the market in it. But, they always seemed to be dead by the next time I needed basil...”

“That’s Newt!”

“Sorry? Is that slang? Is killing basil... _newt_? I never know slang, eleven-year-old or not...”

Crowley laughed. “No... THAT’S Newt.”

Newt was a gangly young man, standing by Crowley’s van, attempting to untangle a ball of pink string line. 

“Sorry, of course!” Aziraphale replied miserably. “Didn’t see him there.”

Crowley laughed again. “He is famously tiny.”

“Newt may, of course, also have tea. And tea mugs...”

“... and lavatory privileges?” Crowley prodded gently, grinning.

“Yup!” Aziraphale agreed, trying to take comfort in the fact this was unlikely to get worse.

“You are RUBBISH at flirting!” Adam announced, loudly behind him. “Why are you so bad at flirting? What’s the point of being gay, if you are too bad at flirting to get laid in nightclub bathrooms? You were mooning over this gardener, with that Ana lady, half the night! Why didn’t you think of anything better to say?”

No holes in the ground opened up.

“Nice to meet you, Damian!” Crowley called out.

“It’s Adam!” Adam shouted, his footsteps retreating.

“No, it isn’t,” Crowley replied sotto voce.

Aziraphale snorted. 

“Seriously, though! Cute kid. Love the curls, and the rampant homophobia. That must be fun to wake up to.

“It’s been... an adjustment...” Aziraphale whispered, conspiratorially.

“I’ll bet!” Crowley said, and... Aziraphale supposed it was  _technically_ a steadying pat on the shoulder. But, there was...  tempo . It lingered. “Least I can fix the garden for you!”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale stammered. “..... for the quote. Really, very reasonable.”

“No problem, Angel! I’ll get down to it, shall I?”

Before Aziraphale managed to wrangle Adam, and Ana, and leave, Crowley had his shirt off, and was swinging a mattock.

“Stop staring,” Adam shouted at Aziraphale, but projected toward Crowley. “You are being creepy...”

“Goodbye, gentleman!” Aziraphale called, heroically ignoring his nephew. “Please do help yourself to the scones.”

“Especially, if you like chewing rocks!” Adam added.

Aziraphale counted in his head. Backward. From one hundred. In Ancient Greek.

* * *

Ana unpacked a box of vampire-themed best sellers. “Remember when these things had Fabio types on the cover?” she asked, waving one at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looked up from his spreadsheet. “Fabio is sixty now, my dear, and the young things have moved on.”

“He CAN’T be sixty, can he?” Ana muttered. “I can’t believe he’s not forty... he seems, sort of, perpetually forty? Like he’s been forty for the last thirty years...”

“Old age comes to us all, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed.

Ana snorted. “Don’t play maudlin with me. Not when you have a big ol’ cinnamon bon-bob, just waiting for you. In your front garden. Getting sweaty. Wondering when you will come home and unwrap him.”

“Oh stop! I _can’t_!” Aziraphale replied, breathily. 

“You can! And he wants you to, and you should!” Ana insisted, slamming a vampire novel down, for emphasis.

“Kid!” Aziraphale exclaimed throwing up his hands. “Also, old! Fat!”

Ana narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t run around, calling yourself fat, when you have a kid...”

“I know, I know! I don’t do it at home,” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s a bit true, though, isn’t it?”

“Az, sweetie! What’s this about? I think Gabe’s done a real number on you, honestly. Maybe you should talk to someone...”

Aziraphale picked up the vampire novel, and fidgeted with it, tapping the edge on the counter. “I have a bereaved child, and a small business, with an employee...”

“...a remarkable employee...”

“... quite so, dear. There is not a lot of slack, in my life. And, what little slack there is, for therapy, rightfully belongs to Adam...”

“Az, Gabe hit you...”

“... and, I got rid of him. It’s done!”

Ana gently pulled the book out of his hands. “Az. At least call one of those hotlines or something..?”

“So some poor person, who needs help to leave, gets a busy signal? While some poor volunteer wastes time telling me things I already know? I’m  _fine_ , Ana. I don’t need help, just because one gardener is... is _too_ _ pretty_ for me.”

Ana pursed her lips. “Ask the gardener out for a drink. Say that you want to thank him for starting so quickly, for working so hard,  _whatever_. Say you want to buy him a beer to say thanks. Take him to a beer garden, Talk to him. Flirt with him. Buy him a steak dinner. See where it goes. “  
  


“A steak dinner?”  
  


“Or whatever! Talk! Flirt! Go out! Have fun! The best revenge is living well.”

Aziraphale let go of a long sigh. It whistles slightly in his teeth. “I don’t _want_ revenge. I just want.... oh, I don’t know what I want.”

Ana took his hand, and squeezed gently. “I know. But, I do...”

“What?”

Ana leaned in, very close to his ear. “ _THE GARDENER!_ ” 

* * *

Anthony Crowley’s eyes were far too distracting, and so, Aziraphale directed his invitation to the heart-stopping little crease, between his eyes.  
  


“So....um..... I so appreciate that you were willing to start, so quickly... and, it was quite warm today, and I thought, perhaps, you regretted being so accommodating...”  
  


“Nah, Angel! I quite like the heat,” Crowley replied. More heart-stopping creases. Fans on the outside of his eyes. Ripples, echoing his eyebrows, up his forehead. 

Aziraphale’s ability to speak made a break for it, and very nearly escaped, out of his lips. He caught it, at the very last moment. “In any case, I was wondering, if I might invite you out for a beer... because of the heat... and the... _um_... work ethic?”

“A beer?” Crowley replied sounding tickled. “Do you drink beer, Angel?”

“I have drunk beer,” Aziraphale answered, cautiously. “Although, I do typically prefer wine. But, I thought that you... Ana said.... um... cold beverage of your preference, obviously. Or... room temperature, if you would prefer a red, or a .....spirit... I didn’t mean it  _had_ to be cold... oh dear...”

Crowley smiled, though. “I would _love_ to join you, Angel. For a liquid, of some temperature. I would have to drop Newt home, first, though, and... freshen up a bit? At least take a shower, I can’t imagine that I smell too...”

“You smell lovely!” Aziraphale protested, without thinking. “I mean... of course, you can freshen up if you like! You could shower here!... Or, at your place, obviously! Like you wanted! Because... I only _meant_ to...  _um_ ...”

“How about I meet you at seven?” Crowley interrupted, gently. “Do you have a favourite place... or..?”

Aziraphale tool a breath. “There’s a tavern, down the road a bit. It’s got an outdoor area. We don’t have to sit there, people do smoke sometimes, but it’s quieter, and it doesn’t get too crowded, or hot, and... and... they spell Pinot Grigio correctly on the wine list... and...”

“Sounds delightful! Down the road, you said?”

Aziraphale recited the directions, toward a spot just above Crowley’s right eye. He could hear his keys, jangling in his hands, because he was tapping his fingers. He tried to stop jingling gradually, so it would not be too obvious.

Crowley smiled as he left, flicked off one work glove, and gently squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, on his way past.

Aziraphale collected his wits, from where they had spilled over the loose, new soil, and went inside, to break the news to Adam.

Adam told Aziraphale he was going to Hell. 

Aziraphale picked out a bow tie.

* * *

  
Crowley’s flat, it turned out, was at the top of several flights of stairs. Which was convenient, actually, because each landing was an excuse for some thoroughly silly, almost teenage, snogging.

“You bought me a steak dinner!” Crowley giggled, on one such landing, as Aziraphale dared to kiss juuuuust below his jaw line. Still  _arguably_ his face, but  actually his neck, or rather his fascinating, bobbing throat.

_What’s with the steak dinner thing_? Aziraphale wondered.  Is this one of those thing _s everybody knows about but me? Outlined in some secret pamphlet I was never handed?_

It was hard to care awfully, though, because Crowley’s captivating chin was jutting into his neck, and Aziraphale could feel his own pulse racing against it. 

_I’m going to have a heart attack_ , Aziraphale thought, with wonder.

Crowley fumbled his keys, when they finally reached his door, and Aziraphale scooped down to rescue them, as if his knees were sixteen years old, rather than in their forties. And, for a moment, as if his brain was also suddenly sixteen as well, he was tempted,  _sorely __tempted_ , to remain on his knees. 

It was Crowley who pulled him up, giggling again. “Neighbours!”

They stumbled into the darkened apartment. Crowley pushed Aziraphale into space and Aziraphale landed safely on a sofa, and then, Crowley landed nimbly in his lap, all before Aziraphale’s eyes adjusted.

“There you are!” Aziraphale murmured, when his pupils finally caught up and widened. “Beautiful... so beautiful...” and he did what he had longed to do all night,  all week , and gently ran his fingers through that beautiful copper hair...

.... and Crowley flinched. Gasped. Tensed every muscle.

“Sorry!” Crowley gasped. “Sorry, sorry! It’s fine, it’s fine...”

Aziraphale had managed to snatch his hand back before freezing. “Anthony...?”

“No! It’s fine, it is, it’s fine!” Anthony pleaded. “I just... I’m a bit weird about my hair, and you surprised me... but, it’s fine now. I’m fine. Touch it all you want!” 

Even in the low light, Aziraphale thought he caught a sheen to Crowley’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. 

“Another time, I think,” Aziraphale said, carefully. “And with your permission first. Better light....”

A raw, throaty sob escaped Crowley. “I’m ruining it! You gave me a chance, and I’m ruining it...”  
  


“What? I... no.  _What_?”  
  


Aziraphale’s mind was an empty, echoey void. He scrambled at it harder. “Cocoa! Let me make you cocoa.”

Crowley blinked at him. 

“Because, you’re upset,” Aziraphale explained. Tried to explain. “... so cocoa.”

“I.... I don’t think I have any proper drinking chocolate. Only, like... cocoa powder..? for...I made brownies, for Newt’s birthday. They weren’t very good...” Crowley stammered. 

“That will work...” Aziraphale reassured him, feeling better that he at least had a plan, even if it _was_ a stupid plan. “You don’t actually need special powder for the drink... just... I’ll prove it to you. I’ll make cocoa, you just...”

He almost told a man to make himself at home, in his own flat.

“Just... breathe... I’ll just be a moment...”

He staggered further into the small flat, correctly landing in the kitchen, and began to assemble the cocoa. The cocoa powder turned out to be cacao powder, which might explain the fate of the brownies. Aziraphale adjusted accordingly. 

None of the mugs matched. He took the oldest looking one for himself, and chose a cheerful bluebird-themed one for Crowley.

Walking back to that first room, he found Crowley, perched on the very edge of the sofa, his hands tightly folded, thumbs worrying the backs of his hands.

“I’m sorry!” Crowley said again, immediately.

Aziraphale sighed. “But whatever for, dear boy? It’s _very much_ all right. You’ve had a long day at work, and, I’ve...startled you. Just drink this. Breathe.”

Crowley blinked. “You made two cups...”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Aziraphale stammered. “I just presumed....”

“You aren’t going to leave?” Crowley asked, eyes huge.

Aziraphale felt his face plummet, although he tried hard to catch it. “Do you  want me to leave? I thought we could have cocoa together first, maybe set another date? Although, I will _absolutely_ go, if I’m making you...”

“You’d give me another chance?” Crowley’s eyes grew, somehow, larger. “Even after I...?”

Aziraphale found those eyes too intense. He dropped his gaze to the floor. “It’s not a matter of  _chances_ . And, if it were, surely, it would be _you_ who was... I... would you like to try getting coffee, perhaps? On Sunday? Or, there’s an exhibition at the Tate we could...”

“You bought me a steak dinner, made me cocoa, and now you want to take me to an art gallery?” Crowley sounded completely incredulous.

Aziraphale didn’t understand at all.

But, he straightened his back and forced himself to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Yes. That’s....Yes, I would like to take you to an art gallery.”

Crowley didn’t answer for a long time, long enough for Aziraphale’s hopes to fall, but then he did. “I would _love_ to go to an art gallery with you.”

Aziraphale smiled, brightly. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, thank you! Sunday all right?”

“Sunday!” Crowley agreed, with a strange little shake of his head.

They drank the cocoa, and Aziraphale said goodnight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos quell the cosmic horror!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: **Strong homophobia** voiced by a child, passing reference to abortion, expression of rigid gender norms, alcohol consumption, joking references to violence

Aziraphale was aware of the social convention that one ‘ _did not text the day after the first date, so as not to appear to eager_ ’, but he picked up his phone, the following morning, with the full intention of ignoring it.

He could hang his ignorance on the fact he’d already set a date for tomorrow, and so ‘ _not too eager_ ’ was out the window, anyway. 

But, it wasn’t _about_ that. It was about Crowley’s hair. It was about that flinch. Those eyes. The soft, vulnerable question after.

**Good morning my dear. I had such a lovely time talking to you - and kissing you!- last night. I am so looking forward to the Tate.**

Aziraphale stared at it. Deleted, and then replaced, that final full stop. Considered the little artist emoji, but rejected it again. Added a comma after morning.

_Just send it!_

He did. 

Dots appeared, and disappeared, several times, but no answer came. 

Aziraphale’s stomach clenched, but he breathed through it. He would find out at the Tate tomorrow, he supposed, at 10:30. And there was enough to be worried about, before then.

He texted Ana, to thank her, again, for babysitting the previous evening, and then got up, to iron Adam’s football uniform.

He was half way though, when Adam appeared, screeching like a banshee. “Why the fuck are you ironing it?! No one fucking _irons_ their gear!”

Adam snatched for the shirt, his fingers dancing within millimeters of the hot steel plate of the iron. Aziraphale’s heart stopped and painfully restarted.

And, he knew, for a fact, that Azrael had ironed the uniform too.

“Adam... let’s not fight about...”

Adam wasn’t listening, though. He was furiously wringing creases into the uniform.

“I’ll go cut some oranges,” Aziraphale sighed. “The socks are just there, in the hamper.”

Adam sneered at him. “Did you get cornholed by that ugly gardener last night? Are you bleeding?”

The words pummeled Aziraphale’s already queasy gut. “Adam, that’s enough. You aren’t to speak to me that way. Or to anyone else. It’s hateful.”

“No, _you’re_ hateful!  _Sinful _. You’ll burn in Hell. You and him together! And your dicks will melt off... and.... and....” Adam collapses to the his knees and then the ground, his legs flanking him making an awkward W.

Aziraphale sighed. “Adam dear, you can’t sit like that. It’s bad for your knees. You’ll tear ligaments, and...”

“As if you would care!” Adam screamed.

“I would care, very much.”

“Because you’d have to pay for surgery or something...”

“No I wouldn’t. There’s an NHS. And I’d care, because I love you.”

“That’s gross,” Adam replied, calmer though. “And my mother says that the NHS is wicked, and kills babies.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “The NHS also fixes knees.”

Adam wasn’t listening though, he’d curled up in a ball and was resting his head on the wall. 

...At least taking the pressure off his knees.

“Adam, you don’t have to go to football today, if it’s too much,” Aziraphale said, softly. “We could go to the movies, maybe... or an arcade...?”

“No!” Adam snapped. “I have to go! I’m on a team. _Real men_ don’t let down a team. _You_ wouldn’t understand.” 

“I do understand, Adam, but your team has plenty of reserves. Wensleydale would love to play a whole game, for once...”

“But I’m the best on the team,” Adam interrupted, his voice heavy. “But I’m the best one.”

“You are very talented,” Aziraphale agreed. “But... if it’s too much, it’s okay to take care of yourself and your needs.”

“That’s hedonist. You’re a hedonist.” Adam said.

Aziraphale didn’t answer.

“My mother’s dead,” said Adam. 

“Yes. She is. And I’m sorry.”

Adam snorted. “Sorry you are stuck with me.”  
  


_Yes_ !  
  


“No. Adam... you are my nephew. I love you. And, even if I didn’t, I would care for you anyway. Because you are a child, and children deserve to be cared for. The things you say to me hurt a great deal. But, there’s nothing you can say that will make me stop loving you. Or stop taking care of you. It doesn’t work that way.”

“So what, if what I say hurts you? Hell will hurt you worse.”

“I don’t believe in Hell,” Aziraphale lied.

Adam shrugged. “Hell believes in you.”

* * *

Crowley did appear at the entrance to the Tate. He wore tight black pants, a tight black T-shirt, a red collared shirt over it, and a long 1920’s style string of black pearls.

“You look stunning,” Aziraphale gulped.

Crowley smiled. “Thanks Angel. You look like you! All buttoned up and buttoned down. And your eyes put the sky to shame. Where’s the kid today?”

“Anathema’s babysitting again,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley’s forehead crinkled. “And, you’re sure she doesn’t mind babysitting? She knows you wouldn’t fire her if she refused?”

“Good lord, I hope so!” Aziraphale exclaimed. But no. Anathema volunteered. And she liked making her art at Azrael’s House. Less clutter.

Still, he resolved to check again.

“Funny idea for an exhibition, isn’t it?” Crowley mused. “ _Drawings_ by Matisse! I must say I’m intrigued. What is a fauve, when you strip away the ‘wild beast of colour’?”

“A man, I suppose,” Aziraphale mused without thinking.

Crowley stared at him.

Two thirds of the way through the exhibition, Crowley’s hand slipped into his. 

In the gift shop, Aziraphale bought Crowley a silk scarf printed with Matisse’s Mimosa. Crowley instantly tied it into his hair.

* * *

“Problem,” Aziraphale announced to Anathema. His head resting on his folded arms. “I think I’m in love.”

He heard the splash and gentle glugging of Ana refilling his wine glass.

“Already?” she asked.

“There was a drawing. A woman’s head. On loan from the Hermitage, I think. And he stood in front of it, and recited Renee Vivien. _In French!”_

“Oh... that would do it, yeah.”

“Ana, this is serious!” Aziraphale moaned. “Why now? Why now, when I... can’t ?”

Ana sniffed. “The other one is cute, too.”

“The other _what_?”

“Newt! Get his number for me, tomorrow? And to celebrate, let’s get utterly _sloshed_.”

“With _my_ booze...”

“Pay me more, and I will bring my own.”

“Fair point. Very well. Once we get going can we switch to peach schnapps? I’ve got this bottle that I’ll never get rid of otherwise.”

“I would be willing, if truly necessary, to fall on that grenade for you, Az,” Ana replied seriously. “For I am a good friend.”

“You  are, actually. I don’t know how I’d get out of bed without you, sometimes...”

“Don’t be maudlin.” Ana scolded. “I’m trying to get happy-drunk here.”

“ _Witch_!”

* * *

When Crowley arrived at 7am the next morning, Aziraphale had made croissants and danishes.

“I made you some pastries,” he said pressing the basket into Crowley’s hand. “For you and Newt, both. But... _for you_...”

“Yeah?” Crowley replied softly. “You did? I never really thought of someone _making_ croissants, before. Croissants just sort of happen. You’re so clever!”

Aziraphale blushes. “I... well... it’s not hard, dear. Perhaps I could show you, sometime.”

“Maybe!” Crowley replied. “And I can teach you how to burn water. It’s my specialty! I can’t cook. Can’t do much of anything...”

“Oh, but my dear! I _must_ protest. Being good with plants is such a skill... I do so envy you....”

“Good decisions, early, that’s all it takes with plants,” Crowley smiled, then looked momentarily worried. “I thought I might have embarrassed you, yesterday... with the pearls, and the scarf...”

“Oh! But, _never_... I....”

“So, you’re THE GIRL then,” Adam interrupted, loudly, from behind them. “I wouldn’t have guessed that...”

“Adam, Go Inside!” Aziraphale snapped. “Now.”

Adam met Aziraphale’s eyes, and they wavered, together, for a moment. Then, Adam spun around and stomped inside.

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, his fists clenched by his side, barely able to open his eyes. “Anthony, I’m SO sorry, I...”

“S’okay, Angel,” Crowley whispered. He placed a hand on Aziraphale’s elbow and left it there, until Aziraphale managed to force his eyes open. “Rome wasn’t deprogrammed in a day, yeah?”

“He’s driving me spare,” Aziraphale admitted breathily. “It’s like living at home again. I can’t...”

“Breathe, Angel,” Crowley cooed. “Have a croissant.”

“I made them for you!” Aziraphale whined. “... err... and Newt of course.”

Newt was currently finding a pile of dirt fascinating. 

“Eat this one for me! I rather like watching you eat. Put it all in your mouth in one go!”

“Oh, stop!” Aziraphale giggled. “It’s only Monday morning. You are being _far_ too naughty for Monday morning.”

“Monday is the naughtiest morning!” Crowley said, quite sincerely. 

“For goodness sake! Anyway, darling, I can’t linger. Monday is Ana’s day off, and alas, the shop doesn’t open itself. I’ve asked it to, on multiple occasions, but it remains resolutely shuttered, regardless. I’m not used to a commute.”

“I’d like to see this shop of yours someday.”

“Then, so you shall.”

Crowley drew in a breath. “Most of the plants will go in today, and the mulch. Then, I’ll do the turf tomorrow. And should be good as new!”

“So quickly! My dear, you are a marvel. I’m sure it would take me months to do one tenth of the job.”

“Will I... see you, after tomorrow?” Crowley was all eyes again.

“But, of course! I must take you out to dinner to... well... I was going to say, to thank you, but actually, what I mean is, I very much want to take you out to dinner, because, I enjoy your company. And you must wear as many scarves and pearls as you please. Oh! And before I forget, in the world’s most awkward segue, do you happen to know if Newt would be interested in Ana’s telephone number? She caught sight of him the other morning, and I’ve been instructed to provide it, should it be welcome...”

Crowley’s eyebrows danced all over, during this speech, and settled high. “The plot thickens! I’ll just check, shall I? Oi, Newt! First, there’s pastries. Second, would you be at all interested in that witchy-girl’s phone number?”

Newt straightened up so quickly he almost slipped over. 

“That’s Newt for yes,” Crowley clarified.

“Yes to pastries.. or...?”

“Number, please!” Newt called. “I mean, yes to pastries too, they smell amazing. But mostly... yes... to number.” 

“I shall text it to you presently, Newt dear. Do be kind to her, though, Newt...”

“Oh, yes... of course!”  
  


“She’s my very dear friend...But more crucially, she’s my only babysitter, so...”

Crowley laughed. “Oh true! Newt, you have to be fantastic to Ana!”

“No pressure, then!” Newt snorted.

Aziraphale smiled. “So, I’ll leave the pastries, and there’s freshly made rye bread for sandwiches, and some lemonades in the fridge. But... err... help yourself to anything, really. And I’ll just collect Adam and be off... to the bookshop. Can I bring you anything? By the way? Either of you...?”

Crowley tilted his head. “Can you bring us anything... from your bookshop?”

“Yes! Are there any .... err... _books_ you were going to pick up... later today? If so, I could save you the trouble...”

“I think we’re fine for books, though, Angel! Thank you! See you, later!”

Aziraphale nodded, and rushed inside.

Adam was there, shaking his head. “You are the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you considered a career in a Greek chorus Adam?” Aziraphale muttered, through his teeth.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Well, be sure to take Ancient Greek at school. Keep your options open.”

Adam considered him. “What I said before. About who was the girl. That was rude, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it _was_ rather. More than rude, actually... What tipped you off?”

“I googled it, when you were outside, failing to flirt with the gardener.”

“Oh.”

“Mum never let me use the internet on my phone.”  
  


“ _Now_ you tell me!”

“I’m sorry for being rude, is what I’m trying to say...”

Aziraphale blinked. “ _You are_?”  
  


Adam looked at his shoes. “Yeah. A bit. I don’t like you, but I’m not... like... a bad person.”

“No,” Aziraphale sighed. “No, you aren’t. Look, it’s all right. Just grab your things. We are late again.”

“Flirt faster, next time. Maybe your ineptitude will be less noticeable, at speed.”

“ _Ineptitude_?”

“It’s one of my spelling words.”

“Can you spell it?”

“Fuck no!”

“I might be able to help,” Aziraphale offered, hesitantly.

Adam scoffed. “Aren’t you going to punish me for swearing? Your parenting is worse than your flirting.”

Aziraphale ignored him and looked for his keys.

* * *

“ _You gave him my number?_ ”

Aziraphale rubbed his forehead, and juggled the telephone receiver onto his other shoulder. His head aches. Peach- fucking- schnapps and nephews had turned out to be quite the combination.  


At least the shop was quiet.

“Yes, I gave him your number! You asked me to!”

“ _No I didn’t! I asked you to get me HIS number!”_

“What’s the difference?”

“ _You do not understand the female experience, Az.”_

“That is very likely so, my dear. Explain it to me?”

“ _If_ _I get his number, then, that gives me one message and the between one additional hour and four days reply window, for me to decide he’s a serial killer.”_

“Newt isn’t a serial killer.”

“ _He could be!_ ”

“He’s not. I’d sooner believe you are a serial killer.”

“ _You let me babysit your nephew!_ ”

“Adam is certainly a serial killer!” 

“ _Oh god, what did he say now? No wait, I don’t care. As it happens, I have decided Newt is_ _not_ _a serial killer, he sent me a very nice text. But, please tell me you haven’t given my number to any other strange men.”_

“Actually I sent it to Crowley who sent it on to Newt, so technically...”

“ _You, Az, are hopeless._ ”

“Have a nice day off, Ana.”

“ _I will, assuming you haven’t gotten me murdered_.”

”As if I’d allow a stranger the honour of murdering you, my dear.”

Ana groaned. “ _No. Barely necessary when there’s you and your peach schnapps! Why did you even, have a bottle of peach schnapps?”_

Aziraphale didn’t answer.

_”It was Gabriel’s... wasn’t it?”_

Azirphale still didn’t answer. Then he did. “Take care, my dear. But more importantly, take an aspirin.”

” _Aspirin! You are one million years old_ ,” Ana muttered. “ _But... I love you.”_  
  
  


Aziraphale sighed, cradled the receiver, and began hunting for his glasses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are bio- luminescence in the Bathypelagic Zone!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m having a bad day, so you get a bonus chapter! 
> 
> Content advisory: gallows humour, moderate homophobia voiced by a child, shouted argument with swearing between an adult and child, references to sex work, reference to hypothetical involuntary sex work, joking reference to violence, descriptions of domestic violence, description of injuries requiring medical treatment including stitches, reference to fat shaming.

“It’s beautiful, Anthony dear. Honestly! I was expecting... well, _I don’t know_... but, it’s so very  close ...”  
  


Crowley dipped his head. “It will look better once the turf’s in. I mean, it will all look a little ‘fresh’ for a while, that can’t really be helped, but after a growing season...”  
  


“It’s just _lovely_.”  
  


“Now... I’m putting in a nice red fescue grass, instead of rye grass, which is what I think I see in those photos... I doubt your nephew will notice, and you’ll thank me in summer, trust me...”  
  


“I’ll happy trust you! Only... when you say _red_ fescue, it’s not  actually red, is it? Because I think Adam MIGHT notice that...”  
  


“It’s not red, Angel, no. Lovely green. And, as for the plants, I’ll write it all out for you, with a little map, what will need water and when... maybe the kid can help you out with it?”  
  


“I’m not actually up to giving him chores,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley smiled. “Standing still, holding a hose, isn’t much of a chore. He can watch stuff on his phone while he does it. Your WiFi reaches. I checked...”

“You think of everything, dear... Now, I believe I promised you dinner tomorrow night, If you are still available. Adam is having a sleep over with his friend Pepper...”

“A mid-week, mixed-sex sleepover, eh?” Crowley’s eyes twinkled.  
  


Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I know. Azrael’s probably spinning in her grave- I do hope the mortician’s hair spray is up to it-Only, Pepper’s mother offered, and she’s about the only school parent who’s ever reached out, the rest just...oh! Excuse me, I must have something in my eye.”  
  


“I’m not sure I remembered to say I was sorry,” Crowley replied, softly. “About your sister. Was it sudden?”  
  


“It was, yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “Literal blink of an eye, and well, we weren’t close, but, I was there... _right_ _there_ , when it happened... and well, Adam , obviously. And it could have easily been me, and not her. Or both of us. Why that table? Why did I sit facing north that day, and her south? I can’t remember, for the life of me... and... sorry. Rambling.”  
  


“Rambling Angel, rambling rose,” Crowley murmured. “I... am free for dinner, although you’ve paid for every date so far, so, I do wonder if it’s my turn...”  
  


Aziraphale smiled. “I... am _happy_ to pay. But, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable either. I have no expectation, Anthony, of the evening, apart from your conversation. _Regardless_.”  
  


“I should explain about...” Crowley said. “I have an ex, who sets things on fire, too. Not  quite so _literally,_ perhaps, but also... um. Just... if I seem gun-shy, it’s about me... about  _him_ , rather. Not about you. And, I hope you aren’t... offended.”

Aziraphale found himself tumbling into those eyes again.  _Someone should paint you, Anthony_ , he thought _._ _Collier, perhaps. No, Reynolds. Some rare talent._  
  


“You aren’t are you, Angel? Offended?”

  
  


“No, my dear! Apologies. Wool-gathering. I was trying to decide your ideal portrait artist.”

Crowley laughed. “With _this_ nose? Picasso!”

“No, you  mustn’t , my dear! Vile man, Picasso. Nowhere near worthy of your nose.”

“My nose is _ridiculous_.”

“Your nose is aquiline.”

“That’s just _Latin_ for _ridiculous_ ,” Crowley quipped back. Then his eyes shifted. “My ex always hated my nose. Well, made fun of it, especially, when I dressed... anyway.”

Aziraphale tried to smile. “Gabriel always hated my thighs.”

“You dated someone called Gabriel?” Crowley screwed up his nose. “Ack! I hate him, already. And he has no taste in thighs. No taste,  _at all_.”

“So, dinner tomorrow?”

“If you let me pay, Angel?”

“You buy food, I buy drinks?” 

“Oh... all right, yes.” Crowley smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Do not stay up all night baking pastries again!”

“Only the yeast will be up all night! I shall sleep soundly.”

_Soundly_ might be a stretch. But Aziraphale did sleep.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, Adam slept through his alarm, and screamed at Aziraphale, for not realising, and for not waking him earlier.

“We are going to be _late_ ,” he howled. “Were you fucking the gardener? Is that why you didn’t wake me?”

“I didn’t wake you, because, you are eleven! And _Anthony_ \- that’s his name, not  ‘the gardener’ \- is hard at work, laying new grass. For you. I did make him a cup of tea, and breakfast. Now, don’t panic...”

“I’m missing a test!”

“I will write you a note!”

“Make ups aren’t allowed!”

“Your teacher very clearly said that accommodations would be made for our circumstances! And anyway, it’s just one test...”

“It will show up!” Adam howled. “It will show on my _report_ and...”  
  


“And...?”

“And, my mother wouldn’t like it! But _you_ won’t care, because _you_ don’t care if I can’t get a good job. _You’ll_ kick me out, when I’m eighteen, and I’ll be on the street.. and I’ll have to fuck for money! Fuck dirty old men, like you!”

“Adam! _Stop it!_ Firstly, this is your house! I couldn’t kick you out of it if I wanted to, which I  certainly don’t...”

“Then, why can’t I kick you out of it? “

“Because you are eleven! And secondly. No... you will not have to do sex work...”

Adam snorted. “ ‘ _Sex work!’_ ...”

“...IF you don’t want to. But, there is nothing wrong with it, provided that... look, when you are older....”

“ _OH! MY! GOD!_ Who the hell thought you were capable of looking after a kid?!”

“ _Your mother_ , apparently! ”

“Well, if she knew you were going to groom me into being a prostitute...”

“Adam _STOP_! Just FUCKING stop! I have some very good friends who do, and have done, sex work...”

“You’re a liar. You don’t have any friends!”

“Well, I used to, okay?” Aziraphale roared. “And you’ve no idea what....!  Look! You are eleven! I know some things about the world that you don’t! And some things your mother didn’t know, either!”

  
  


Adam glared at him. “Yeah... like how to...”

“ENOUGH! Whatever bigoted, hateful, little barb you where about to throw at me? _JUST SPARE ME_. I’ve...had enough . Get ready for school, and I will write you a note for the test. And you will keep your thoughts about sex work, and gay people, and all the rest of it _TO YOURSELF_ , for the morning. I do not expect you to walk before you can crawl, Adam, but I need one morning off from living with a... _conservative talk radio host!_ So. Just. Spare. Me. Please.”

Adam glared at him. Adam started to cry. “You aren’t allowed to shout at me! You aren’t!  You aren’t!”  
  


Aziraphale was no more than thirty seconds from bursting into tears, himself. “Please, just get ready for school, and pack an overnight bag for Pepper’s house. Knock on my door when you are ready.”

He then turned, and marched into his bedroom, held a pillow firmly against his face, and sobbed into it, until he heard the tentative knock at the door.

He and Adam left the house, silently. 

Crowley raised a hand to wave goodbye as they left. Aziraphale tried to smile back, tried to wave cheerfully, tried to decrease the puffiness of his eyes and face, by sheer force of will.

Judging by the topography of Crowley’s eyebrows, he was not at all successful.

* * *

“Told him I loved him....”

Ana’s eyes flicked up from the pricing stickers and widened. “Told Crowley? _Already_?”

“No, not Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. “Adam.”

“Huh...” Ana answered, noncommittally, shelving some returns. “How did _that_ go?”  
  


“Honestly? I thought I had gotten through to him, a little. But then, this morning? He was just as ghastly as ever. And to be completely honest, I lost it a little bit?”

“Need help hiding the body?”

“You’re a dear friend, Ana, but no. I didn’t lose it _that_ badly. But, I did shout. Made him cry.”

Ana frowned. “Did you call him names?”

“I don’t actually remember... I’m a wretched excuse for a parent either way, but... oh, I don’t know. Somehow, he found my last nerve, this morning... He’ll have the night to cool off though, at Pepper’s... “

“While you have the night to warm up with Anthony! He really likes you, by the way. At least according to Newt. Newt says he’s smitten.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, how I wish that were true... Honestly, Ana he’s... marvelous. It’s... oh, but it hardly matters, does it? It’s not the right time... especially for Adam. I’m still trying to get him to stop saying the F word...”

“Have you gone all Puritan?” Ana snorted. “The odd ‘fuck’ here and there is useful... spices up a sentence. Or an afternoon, if it’s an _actual_ fuck, of course... Yesterday afternoon, for example. With Newt. Who is lovely!”

“The _other_ F-word, dear. Honestly? He can say ‘fuck’, all he likes. I... oh! I think I _did_ call him a name. I called him a ‘talk radio host’ ...”

“You monster!” Ana giggled. “Seriously though, Az. You _can’t_ call him names. I know deprogramming him sucks, but... you can’t call him names. Even deserved ones.”

Aziraphale rested his head on the counter. “I know, I know. I’m  _mortified_ that I lost it. And, I will apologise. I just... I needed time. He said... well, never mind.”

“Don’t think about it.” Ana ambled over, and stroked his back affectionately. “Think about tonight, instead. Lovely dinner, lovely drinkies, lovely dessert, and then, lovely...”

“Ana, I want to keep seeing him! _Anthony_. If he’ll have me. I don’t _want_ a fling, or a rebound. I want a _boyfriend_. I know it’s a bad idea and my duty is to Adam, and that it’s too soon, and that children come first, but I want a boyfriend. I want _THIS_ boyfriend.”

“So?”

“So, give me permission to be selfish, and a bad parent, about just this one thing, just this one time. Please?”

“You don’t need my permission, Az. You need yours. And Anthony’s. But again, I’ll remind you... Newt says he’s smitten. So, the only thing standing in your way is...”

“Adam.”

“No, Az. _You_. The thing in your way, is you.”

Aziraphale sighed. “So, situation normal, then!”

* * *

Crowley was smiling at him, and Aziraphale was happy. The schnitzel he was eating was, honestly only so-so, but, as Crowley was paying, Aziraphale had chosen based more on price than appetite.

Meanwhile, he was generous with the drinks he’d negotiated to pay for, and had even jokingly insisted on paying for Crowley’s soup starter, when it arrived in a carafe.

He scolded himself a little internally. There was some manner of classism about this. He owned a business, and so did Crowley. He had no _particular_ reason for assuming Crowley couldn’t afford their date. But... it was _fun_. It was fun buying things for Crowley, fun giving him things. And Crowley seemed to like it. Seemed to light up irresistibly.

“Shall we dessert?” Aziraphale asked. “My treat?”

Crowley smiled. “Actually, I was hoping we might.. _ahem_ ‘dessert’ back at my place. My treat.”

“Anthony...”

“I still owe you an explanation about last time,” Crowley interrupted, almost blurted. “When I was a c... the um... _hair_ thing.”

Aziraphale exhaled. “Anthony, you don’t owe me that. Or _anything_ else, at all. I will happily listen to anything you wish _freely_ to tell me, but...”

“The ex who didn’t like my nose. Didn’t really like long hair either. Put up with it, because it was important to me. My parents didn’t like long hair, either. Drew _inferences,_ from long hair. Growing it out, when I left home, was... important. And one day, my ex was angry and decided to cut it off. Grabbed it in his hand and cut, right to the scalp. _Through the scalp_. I needed fifteen stitches. They shaved my whole head in A&E. I think they thought they were helping. Saving me getting it done, later, at a hairdresser. But I looked like... well... a skin head, frankly. For months. My hair grows so slowly. So for months, every mirror. I looked just like the people who tormented me in school, so, in the end I bou... anyway. That’s why. I know, you wouldn’t. Wouldn’t _ever_. But, I guess, I’m just head-shy. You know, like a horse?”

Aziraphale’s chest burned. “Oh my poor, dear Anthony. How could he? How  _monstrous_ . You must have been terrified!”

“More shocked, I think, than angry...” Crowley replied with an easy smile. “But... yeah.. hard to fall asleep next to a man, once he’s pulled that. And Angel, don’t worry. With you, it’s strictly a lizard-brain thing... I _know_ you would never...”  
  


“But how _could_ he? Such an awful thing to do to someone,” Aziraphale murmured. “To _anyone_... but to _you!_ Andknowing what your hair meant to you! How you’d had to...”

“Yeah!” Crowley agreed easily. “Of course, you don’t get it, because you’re _lovely_ and you’d never...”

“Well, of course not!” Aziraphale agreed vehemently. “I will admit that I _do_ daydream about brushing it, running my fingers though it...”

“You’re adorable, Angel! That’s what you daydream about? My daydreams about you aren’t _half_ so wholesome...”

“...braiding flowers into it...”

Crowley rapped on the table. “I did not know, until _just this second_ , that I wanted you to braid flowers into my hair, someday. But, now I want it, about as much as I’ve wanted anything.”

Aziraphale smiled back. “We could go on a picnic someday. French bread, Italian wine, alpine cheese... I’d read you poetry, and braid daisies into your hair...”

“That’s it!” Crowley laughed. “Seduction accomplished, Angel. My place, now! Leave your trousers here. No time.”

“I will gladly accompany you home, dear boy, but, I’m not half done seducing you. I was a _terrible_ _lout,_ the first time, groping you and marking your neck...”

“Hard disagree! You were a _bloody fantastic_ lout...”

“If I’m doing this,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’m doing this properly. _Gently_. I will not be done seducing you, until you have been very. thoroughly. romanced.”

“You will be done seducing me this evening, though, right Angel? Because, frankly, this lily comes pre-gilded.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Allow me to settle with the waiter, and then we’ll see how far we get...”

Crowley blinked dreamily. “Okay... no wait! You tricked me! _I’m_ paying!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are fairy lights in trees in the park.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: sexual content, passing reference to a trigger, anxiety, reference to sex work, implied involuntary/survival sex work, self doubt, internalised shame over boundaries

They sat in Crowley’s flat, some distance between them. 

“So.... you were seducing me...” Crowley prompted.

The flat was all decorated in all clean lines. Deceptively expensive.

Aziraphale exhaled through his teeth. “I was, yes. Seducing you. Right... here we go...” He pushed himself down into a more liminal headspace, and slowly, as if Crowley were a wild fawn, extended out his hand.

A line appeared in Crowley’s forehead, but he raised his own hand, placing it into Aziraphale’s, gasping as Aziraphale turned that hand over.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Aziraphale ran his thumb on the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “This square inch of you...” he began, his voice heavy and low. “This square inch of your skin deserves worship. It deserves to be praised and treasured beyond rubies. So soft, like early morning sunlight. And just beneath, the entwined branches of two great trees. One carrying your blood, invigorated, to the tips of your long, clever fingers. One bearing your blood, spent, back to your thrumming heart. This square inch of you is a miracle. It is made of stuff forged in the heart of stars and assembled by a billion, billon chances over billions of years. It is beauty untold, it is power immeasurable, it is chance incalculable. A miracle. Ineffable. And so is the next inch of you, and the next and the next.”

“Ngk” said Crowley. And then. “Yep... okay. I was pre-seduced. And I’m now... _more_ seduced. More seduced than originally. My duced can’t really get much more sedded.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly, and, without letting go of Crowley’s hand, he raised his own other. With it, carefully, he began unpopping the buttons of Crowley’s long, light shirt. He forced himself to look Crowley straight in the eyes, as he did this, even though it was like staring into the sun, even though his brain screamed against it.

The last button popped, and the shirt was cleaved. Still holding Crowley’s hand with one of his own, Aziraphale used the other to shrug the shirt of Crowley’s shoulders, off his body entirely. The shirt hung, inside-out, from Aziraphale’s forearm, as he _still_ did not release Crowley’s hand.

A tight, black vest stretched over Crowley’s chest, beneath the vanquished shirt. Aziraphale’s free hand sought the gap between vest and trousers. Finding it, he wrapped his hand around the freed skin of Crowley’s flank, fingers along Crowley’s back, thumb along his front, and slowly he swept his hand up Crowley’s side, pulling the vest up and across diagonally, unveiling Crowley’s stomach, his pale chest. Crowley helped, his lithe arm and shoulder twisting to free itself, and Aziraphale guided the neckband carefully over Crowley’s head, taking care to not crush his nose, to not yet touch his hair. From there, the vest tumbled down Crowley’s arm to settle, also, on Aziraphale forearm.

Aziraphale returned his attention to the inch of skin on Crowley’s wrist, where he’d started. He kissed it gently, and then shifted his body forward, into Crowley lap, Crowley twisted his body along the sofa to receive him, and, as Aziraphale settled in his lap, rhythm quickened in Crowley’s hips, an almost unconscious pulse against him.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched.

Crowley near silently keened.

Slowly, as slowly as he could, as slowly as he _dared_ , Aziraphale finally released Crowley hand, and ran a finger from that original inch of skin, up the inside of Crowley’s arm. Meandering up the contour of a bicep, across to the ridge of a collarbone, up one of the jugular valleys of Crowley’s neck, a gentle circumnavigation of the line of his chin, then back along his jaw line, up to his ear, along and down the line of his cheekbone, and finally the pillowy softness of his lower lip. Then, he lowered his head, and caught this lip between his own. 

Crowley’s mouth felt a little dry, and so Aziraphale was patient, sucking the lip only softly, waiting for Crowley’s tongue to find him. Crowley’s hands were beginning to furtively worry Aziraphale’s own shirt, but they seemed helpless to disrobe him without permission. Eventually, they just grabbed a handful of shirt and clung on. Aziraphale might normally cluck over such creases, but, just now, the thought of them sent a a river of warmth coursing through him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

Crowley sniffed. A tear spilled over, down his cheekbone. “No...” Crowley whispered, as if to that tear. “No... no. I’m not crying, it’s alright. I don’t know why I... you can keep going, you can do what you want. You can...”

“Darling boy,” Aziraphale murmured. “Darling boy, not yet. You must feel safe.” And forbearance wasn’t frustrating, it felt transcendent. Powerful. Holy. “Only ever when you are ready. Not yet. Not _yet_.”

“But, it’s so stupid,” Crowley whined. “I want you and it’s not like...FUCK! What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing, my love. Nothing.”

“My love?” Crowley repeated, almost gulped.

“Mmmm,” Aziraphale replied, he felt too warm, and too heavy, to even try to take it back. He’d been foolhardy, and now he was leaning into it.

“I can’t say it back!” Crowley blurted, frantic. “I want to! I even... but, I’m not ready! I... I...”

“It’s all right, Anthony, it’s all right...” Aziraphale whispered back, slowly, softly. 

_Head shy. A startled fawn._

Aziraphale shifted his knees, ensuring that he was taking his full weight. That Anthony was entirely unpinned. “What do you need, Anthony dear. Name it. Time? Kisses? Cocoa?”

“I bought drinking chocolate, this time!” Anthony blurted. “And little marshmallows!” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Cocoa, then?”

“Yes! No! Wait! I don’t know! Why can’t I...?! I don’t know!” Anthony stammered. Sad. Frenetic. “What do I... why? I’m a... I can’t keep...”

Aziraphale leaned forward again, but very slowly, allowing Anthony ample time to have escaped the gentle kiss he planted on his temple. “You must feel safer with me. Not yet. Would you like cocoa? Your shirts back? What do you need, Anthony dear? Your heart is pounding, how do I soothe it?”

Anthony couldn’t quite seem to answer. “Angel,” he just whispered. “Angel.”

* * *

“I told him I loved him,” Aziraphale told Anathema. “Anthony. This time.”

Ana peered over her tea, with interest. “Oh? Did he say it back.”

“He did not.”

Ana blinked. “Are you okay?”

“Actually, I believe I am. He needs time... and I have it to give. And it’s okay.”

Ana smiled, looking almost proud. “Good for you!”

* * *

Aziraphale waited for Adam at the school gate. Women in yoga pants whispered, nearby. 

Adam approached him slowly. Head hung. Looking at his shoes. 

_How will I know when he needs new shoes?_ Aziraphale wondered.  _Will he tell me?_

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, when he finally couldn’t delay arriving any further. His voice was thick. “I talked to Pepper’s mum about our fight. She... talked a lot about sex positive feminism. And, I mean, _a lot_. Pepper did too. And smurfs, for some reason? I gather I might have been an arse? Anyway, even Jesus was nice to prostitutes so, I’m sorry.”

“It was probably SWERF not smurf,” Aziraphale murmured, thanking  _somebody_ for Pepper and her mother. 

Adam shrugged. “Might have been.”

“Let’s go get milkshakes,” Aziraphale sighed. “We need to talk.”

Adam snorted. “Milkshakes?”

“Well, what do you want instead? A cappuccino?” Aziraphale replied, slightly exasperated.

Women, in £800 sunglasses, snickered.

“Milkshakes are fine.” Adam said.

When they found somewhere, he ended up ordering an iced chocolate.

“Two please,” Aziraphale sighed. “Whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on mine.”

“Mine too!” Adam piped in. 

_Oh, I do love you,_ Aziraphale thought.  _Don’t I ?_

He’d visited Azrael the day Adam had been born, their reconciliation younger, then, than her pregnancy, and perhaps, _because_ of it. He’d not been, Aziraphale gathered, a particularly small baby. But, he’d felt small when Aziraphale had cradled him. Impossibly small. Like a cloud in his arms.

They waited quietly for their drinks.

  
  


They sat.  
  


“We need to make a deal, you and I,” Aziraphale began, hesitantly. “I... I  like Anthony. I  really like him. The timing is terrible, I know. I should be giving you my full attention. All my love. But...you don’t _want_ it, Adam. I enrage you daily. And, anger is okay. You lost your mother, and you loved her, and it just isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to go through this, and you do. It’s so far from fair...”

Adam sniffed. Sucked aggressively on his straw. Traced the wood grain of the table with his fingers. Said nothing.

“I wish I were better, Adam,” Aziraphale sighed. “I wish I was stronger. Singularly devoted to you. A storm wall, against which you could break your grief. But, I’m not, my dear. I... I’m only a man.”

Adam glanced up at him, for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to pierce. Then, his eyes flicked down again.

Aziraphale bolstered himself with a mouthful of iced chocolate before continuing. “I... um...you know your mother was religious Adam. Conservative. Widowed, and traumatised by our upbringing. You likely know your grandparents were even more strict. I don’t know _quite_ what you’ve been told of them, but, I’m sure you’ve gathered _that much_. What you said to me, hurt me so much, because they _really did_ throw me out of my home. Eighteen months before they legally could, as it happens. And I... I did things that I didn’t want to do to survive. I would not let that happen to you, or to anyone else it was in my power to keep safe.”

Adam began to scratch at the wood grain with his fingernails, still not looking up. 

He didn’t appear to be damaging the table, so Aziraphale didn’t stop him. Tried to keep plowing through this.

“So... you and I, Adam, are what family we have, to each other. And, I  can never make it so I died, instead of your mother, and _you_ can never change my past, to make me strong enough to bear your rage indefinitely. So... so we need something new. We need to find a way to work together. And... as I said before, I like a Anthony. I can’t hold him at arm’s length, he doesn’t want that, and doesn’t deserve a relationship which doesn’t please him. And, he makes me happy, Adam. So... if I am going to ask you to be kinder to me, to _respect_ me, to work harder to open your mind, and to hold your tongue, it seems only fair that you get something, too. Basically, _not only_ am I going to pursue a relationship, instead of martyring myself to your needs, but I am _ALSO_ going to bribe you. Doubling down on the questionable parenting choices, you see.”

Adam did look up, then. “Bribe me? How? I hope you don’t mean with one milkshake? And you don’t have anything I want...”

Aziraphale exhaled a sharp, bitter chuckle. “Oh, how foolish you are, little one. Your mother and I did talk, occasionally... and I know some things. I think I know exactly one thing, you very much want, and have for a long time. Your mother could not abide dogs, but I can. And you _very much_ want one. So, that’s the deal on the table, Adam. I’m proposing adopting a dog, for ignoble reasons. Three dubious life choices all at once! Boyfriend, bribery, ignoble adoption. You are really getting a lesson on how the sausage gets made...”

“Wait, are you serious? I can have a dog?” Something dangerously approaching a smile formed on Adam’s face, and Aziraphale felt ludicrously like a crime boss.

“You can, indeed, have a dog. I do expect you to be, at least, _nominally_ in charge of caring for him or her, but, having once been eleven, I am under no illusions about how responsible eleven year olds actually _are_...”

“No no! I will!” Adam interrupted. “I’ll feed him and walk him, everyday. Twice a day! And train him properly, and...”

“... and try to treat me with basic human respect,” Aziraphale interjected, firmly. “So... have we reached an accord?”

Adam squinted at him. “Yes. Yes I think we have. Solid parlay, Uncle.”

Small victories were what they were. And iced chocolate and whipped cream tasted good.

* * *

_** You aren’t angry with me, are you, Angel?  
  
** _

Aziraphale carefully considered the text.  
  


**My dear! No! Whyever would you think so?**

Dots... no dots... dots... dots...  
  


**_i was a cocktease  
  
_ **

Aziraphale sighed.  
  


**_again  
  
_ **

Aziraphale’s heart burned uncomfortably.

**No! I forbid such nasty thoughts, about my lovely, lovely Anthony. Please, think kindly of yourself, at once, my dear. I enjoyed every moment of your company.  
  
**

Dots appeared, disappeared.  
  


**_Too kind to me._ **

**It is fundamentally impossible to be too kind to you, my dear. It’s a universal limit, the kindness you deserve. Like the speed of light. Me, but a mortal, may but treasure you a fraction as much.**

Dots danced.

_Poor dear Crowley,_ Aziraphale thought. He called a florist and had flowers delivered to his flat, just to be sure.  
  


And, hours later...  
  


**_You sent me flowers!  
  
_ **

Aziraphale smiled.

**I hope you don’t mind, dear boy, that it’s not cut flowers. I had a sudden notion that cut flowers might offend your gentle green-fingered spirit, and couldn’t bear to risk it. There’s a presumption in a pot though, isn’t there? As if I have mailed you work...**

**_You. Sent. Me. Flowers!...Even after..._ **

**I BEG of you, to be kind to my dear Anthony. I beg on my knees. I’ll send a picture and prove it.**

Aziraphale did just that. 

**_Take your shirt off and send it again!_ **

Aziraphale laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are glow worms in a limestone cave


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: reference to death, dog saliva, sexual content, reference to past financial trouble, arguable boundary issues, joking reference to violence, implied former drug use

The dog was a small one, and seemed an even-tempered, if energetic, sort of fellow.   


Aziraphale reflected that this venture could have turned out much worse.

“Dog! That’s his new name.” Adam, who _usually_ always insisted on the front seat, was happily sitting in the back, sticking his fingers into his new friend’s carrier. Having those fingers licked. Touching _literally_ every surface of the car, and his own face, and hair, with those same fingers. 

Aziraphale had a new life, and it was lightly coated with dog saliva.

“You don’t want to stick with the shelter’s name?” Aziraphale was teasing. The shelter had named this particular dog ‘Shamwow’,  which had made Adam furious.

“No! It’s silly and weird. What does it even mean?!”

“Oh...err...I think it was a type of mop, or something..?”

“But, he isn’t a _moppy_ sort of dog. There _are_ moppy sorts of dogs, but he _isn’t_ one. It doesn’t work! They weren’t _trying_ properly! ‘Dog’ suits him.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It would be weird if it didn’t...” He continued talking for a while, going through the care advice that the shelter had given them, until it became apparent that Adam wasn’t listening to him, at all. Then, he just drove, catching occasional glances, in the rearview mirror, of a child that looked actually happy.  


  
It was lovely, and also burned unpleasantly.  
  


  
  


For a moment his dead sister sat in the passenger seat. And she _looked_ dead, too. “ _A dog_?” she said. “ _Really_?” 

Aziraphale watched the road.

“Pepper and Brian are at the park!” Adam announced suddenly, looking up from his phone. “Can we stop, and show them Dog?”

“I don’t know...” Aziraphale answered, hesitantly. “We don’t want to unsettle the poor thing too much, he’s having a big day...”

The ‘poor thing’ in question did not have the good grace to _look_ unsettled, though. Dog was all chipper barks, and play wiggles.

“... err, yes. I suppose, fine.”

Adam bolted out of the car, with Dog, the moment Aziraphale parked, not even looking back, so Aziraphale supposed his presence was not required for Dog’s debut.  


He watched the three children and the dog frolic, and then take a series of selfies with each other, and then upload them all to their social media. Aziraphale’s phone pushed him a notification, or two, from his subscriptions to his nephew.

“As if he were a magazine,” he muttered.

He clicked various little ‘like’ buttons. Didn’t comment. His thoughts wouldn’t be wanted.

He saw a distant Adam receive notification of Aziraphale’s digital approval, and give a bewildered half wave, in the direction of the car. Aziraphale waved discretely back.

Then, he dialed the bookshop, stopping Ana halfway through her formal shop greeting.

“Only me, dear!”

“ _Cute dog, Az! Well done!_ ”

“You’re subscribed to Adam, as well, I take it?” Aziraphale guessed.

_“I am! You did well. He looks quite happy, doesn’t he? There may be a rebound though, Az. A backlash. Backslide.”_

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. I figured as much. I can but try.”

Ana clucked. “ _Oh! News! Newt adores you!_ ”

“I’ve had, maybe, ten sentences of conversation with Newt and baked him a few pastries-by-association?” Aziraphale chuckled. “I’m doubt I’m any competition to you, Ana dear.”

“ _He adores you FOR CROWLEY. Apparently Crowley’s been dancing on air, all week. Thinks you hung the moon_.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale breathed. “ That’s... nice to hear...although, should we be gossiping about...?”

“ _Have you slept with him yet?_ ”

“Ahh... Ana, I really must stop you. A gentleman never tells....”

“But, I’m not asking a gentleman, I’m asking _you_...”

“You wound me, Ana. To the bone.”

“ _Yes. And now, to the bone... How was the bone?_”

“Am I not, _literally_ , paying you to pretend you respect me, right now?”

“ _You knew I was a communist when you hired me, Az._ ”

“Yes. Yes. Quite so. Just ensure I’m executed quickly, and humanely, when the revolution comes. That’s all I ask...”

“Aww, Az. I’ll make sure you’re first against the wall. You know that!”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale sighed. Swallowed. “Hung the moon, really?”

“ _So I’m reliably informed._ ” 

“And, you and this Newton fellow? I _did_ instruct him to treat you well.”

“ _Treats me_ _very well ,_ ” Ana replied. “ _A little scattershot, due to inexperience, maybe, but so, so eager! And STAMINA, Az...!_ ”

“I think, I was more asking, if he opens doors for you?” Aziraphale interrupted. “But, I suppose, I’m pleased that you’re pleased.”

“ _I can open my own doors_ ,” Anathema snickered. “ _What I can’t do is lick my own..._”

“Maybe, you could try getting a rib removed, dear?”

“ _There! Ha! Told you you weren’t a gentleman! Bye, Az! Enjoy the dog!_ ”

“But, I ha...”

Ana had rung off, before Aziraphale could point out he hadn’t actually got to the point of his call, yet.

He _could_ text her, he supposed.

... or, he could text, Crowley...

... surely, the order could wait until Monday...

  
  


Crowley answered, almost at once. 

**_Angel! felt the phone buzz in my pocket! Hoped it was you._ **

**Which pocket was this?** Aziraphale typed, but did not send. 

He did send **I suppose, I could pretend to be confirming you’re still available tomorrow. But honestly? I just missed you...**

**_Be there with bells on. Not like... hundreds of bells? But definitely at least two bells. So it’s bells and not bell. Because it would be weird to say I’ll be there with bell end._ **

Aziraphale blinked

**_Shit “bell on”! Autocorrect! I swear I don’t think you are a bell end.  
  
_ **

Aziraphale laughed.

**I believe you. Millions wouldn’t.**

Dots...

No dots.

_Shit_ . 

Aziraphale tried again.  **Maybe, if I’m the Angel, I should be the one ringing the bells? Don’t Angels do that?**

**_I think actual Angels smite things? And be wheels of eyes? And carry flaming swords?_ **

**Instructions unclear, but shall attempt to be wheelie flaming.**

**_Look at you, with the abysmal Dad jokes! You’re a natural!_ **

**I’ll have you know, I got him a dog, today.**

**_You got him a dog? Unrelatedly, is there a swoon emoji? Asking for a friend..._ **

  
  


Aziraphale’s heart squeezed. He looked up at the dog, and children, bored with their phones again, running and chasing, and his heart squeezed again. 

The sun hung low in the sky. 

* * *

They sat at lunch, discussing how Thomas Hardy wrote women. It was Aziraphale’s restaurant choice, Aziraphale’s treat. Not the most exciting luncheon cuisine, but all exquisitely done.  


Ivory tableclothes, napkins, and some thought had gone into the exact design of the silverware.  
  


Crowley was wearing the same string of pearls as from the art gallery. Tripled over, this time, thus hanging high, against his chest. And Crowley caught Aziraphale looking.

“Those pearls really are a beautiful piece, Anthony,” Aziraphale said then, so Crowley would know that his staring was not disapproval. “I can imagine why they would be a favourite.”

Crowley smiled. “Not so much a favourite, Angel, as ‘all I’ve got’! They are _real_ though, belonged to by great-grandmother. I say real, I don’t know whether the oysters were in rivers or in the ocean, and I don’t know if they got dirt shoved in their mouths or if they ate it accidentally. I mean, _real_ in that, she _really_ wore them. A real flapper really wore these, and danced. I used to have more of her pieces. I had to pawn most of them... beautiful Art Deco things...”

“Oh, my dear... I hope you can get them back...”

Crowley chuckled, gently. “You are a bit of an innocent, Angel. Nah... it’s too long ago to get them back, now.”

“Could we try the shop?” Aziraphale asked. “After lunch? The tickets may have expired, but the items might still be there, assuming someone put down some anti-hipster spray....”

“Couldn’t afford to buy them market price,” Crowley shrugged. 

“I might be able to...” The words hung in the air.

Crowley’s eyebrows grew in. “That would be... an _expensive_ gift, Angel. We... don’t know each other that well...”

Aziraphale cleared his throat gently, to give himself a moment. Crowley was quite right, of course, yet the words stung. “Well... it _might_ be a moot point, in any case. We don’t yet know that there _IS_ anything to recover. But, surely, it can’t hurt to find that out...?”

_It’s nonsense, of course_ , Aziraphale scolds himself. _Manipulative nonsense._ _Of course , it would hurt Crowley to find out, whatever the answer._

But, before Aziraphale can withdraw anything, Crowley shifts. “I... I guess... I did always wish I’d taken photos, before I sold them. Maybe, if something was still there... you could... not _buy_ it... but maybe, distract the owner, a bit, while I took some pictures with my phone? Or...”

“So... a caper?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile.  
  


“A.... _tiny bit_ of a caper, yes. “ 

They plotted over a shared slice of raspberry cheesecake. 

  
Crowley joked that Azrael’s estate car was not much of a getaway vehicle.

Aziraphale observed that this was all the better, while trialing yet another potential mid-European accent.

Crowley giggled.

Aziraphale tried not to stare at Crowley’s long fingers, twisting ribbons of his long, red hair.

  
  


The pawn shop was grim, and in a grim part of London. Only one of its two roller shutters had been rolled open. More than one used hypodermic were settled in a crack in the pavement. A doomed, sickly weed poked through. A few luckless blades of grass.

Crowley looked anxious, as he followed Aziraphale’s gaze. Aziraphale squeezed his hand.

There planned _modus operandi_ fell apart, near instantly, because the owner recognized Crowley.

“Thizz!” The man exclaimed, in a flat, West Country accent. “Long time, no see! What have you got for me today?”

  
  


Aziraphale felt a slight tug, as Crowley froze on the end of his arm. “Ahh, good afternoon! We had other intentions today, actually. Specifically, to inquire about the possibility of reacquiring some items which Anthony has pawned here. Should any be available.”

The shop keeper’s base demenour shifted from disaffected to slightly hostile. “Well, _of course_ I’ve still got some of that stuff. Surprised I don’t have more. Who would want it, around here? I overpaid you, Thizz. Too generous by half, me.”

Crowley flinched again, and Aziraphale turned to him, ignoring the shopkeeper.

“Would you like to leave, my dear? Are you well?”

“He said he might have something,” Crowley replied, his voice heartbreakingly tight.

Aziraphale turned to face the shopkeeper again. “Perhaps, you could show us what you have?”

The shopkeeper snorted. “Sure thing, Thizz.”

Aziraphale took a breath. “His name his Anthony, and you are talking to me, please.”  
  


Crowley inhaled sharply beside him.  
  


Aziraphale smiled at him.   


Something was wrong, here. Something Aziraphale couldn’t put his finger on. He hoped he was not making it worse.

When Crowley smiled back, weakly, Aziraphale turned back, again, to the shopkeeper. 

A pendant appeared. A mother of pearl hat-pin. A geometric brooch -of some sort of crystal and slightly tarnished, antique silver.

Crowley stared at them, without speaking. His breath hitched. 

Aziraphale made up his mind.. “ _Are_ these yours, darling?”

Crowley nodded, drawing his lips into his mouth.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “You can wait in the car, if you like, my dear. I’ve got this.”

Crowley shook his head, but still folded up, arms crossed, shoulders high. Making himself rounder and smaller.

Aziraphale swung back, yet again, to the shopkeeper.  


  
  


There is more than one form of menace.  


  
  


He shifted his weight slightly forward, extended his neck, protruded his chin. He smiled, tented his fingers together, and reined his vowels rounder, forward. Higher in his mouth. He spoke moderately, never raising his voice. Never blinking. And never backing down an inch.

A mostly reasonable amount of money changed hands.

When they left, Crowley clutched his heirlooms against his chest, and Aziraphale held the door.

“How did you DO that?” Crowley whispered. “That... he _blinked_ and... and you _didn’t_.”

“I _could_ use some eye-drops,” Aziraphale replied, keeping his tone, light and low.

Crowley looked grateful. _Too_ grateful. It was intoxicating. It felt dangerous.

“I’m glad we got some of your things back, darling...”

“... I will pay you back,” Crowley stammered...

“I’d like to take you home now...”

“Angel, there are things I haven’t told you...”

“ _Drop_ you home, I mean...”

“You should come up! I... this... it’s _too much_...”

  
  


“Another _time_ , darling,” Aziraphale replied, firmly. “I will call you tonight, and tomorrow morning as well, if you like. We can chat, about something light. Plants. Food. Newt and Ana. ‘ _Coming up_ ’, and ‘ _things you haven’t told me_ ’ should wait. Not today.”

“But...”

“Another time. You look grey, my dear, and I swear,I can see the pulse in your neck from here. Let me drive you home.”

“Why do I do this?” Crowley gasped. Eyes wide. Almost _actually_ asking. “Every time I’m around you, I...” he trailed off to silence.

  
  


A silence Aziraphale knew he mustn’t fill.  
  


Instead, Aziraphale smiled, and turned his attention to the road.   
  


Crowley blinked at the little pile of inheritance in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are little rainbows made by water glasses when the sun streams in, just right


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: discussions of unequal relationship dynamics, discussion of gender norms, grief, brief discussion of death, survivors guilt, self hatred, internalised homophobia, taxidermy, reference time drug use, sexual content

“Oh wow...That’s... that’s a lot...” Ana peered at her wine.

Aziraphale folded his arms uncomfortably. “Too much, do you think?”

“It’s... just, an _extravagant_ amount of money, for a new relationship...” 

“But, well, it wasn’t even really a gift, was it? Those things _belonged_ to Crowley, by rights. He should never have been put in the position of having to pawn them, in the first place. I just... tipped the scales back to square. That’s not a _gift_ , it’s _justice_. And... I wasn’t thinking in terms of... you didn’t see his face, Ana, when he was talking about... oh, I’ve messed up again, haven’t I? Only, what was I _meant_ to do?”  
  


Ana sighed. “You haven’t messed up, Az. You did a nice thing, and you were... _careful,_ afterwards. Only, we don’t know quite where the money problems came from. How _unjust_ they really were...”

“I thought you were a communist? I was redistributing wealth, from the pawn-shop owning bourgeoisie, to the adorable, soft-lipped proletariat!”

Ana chuckled. “So, you’re a class traitor, is what you are saying?”

“I’m a double agent. A _noble_ one!”

“If you do say so, yourself! Hmm... maybe I can finagle some information out of Newt...”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open. “No! That’s... dishonest!”

“You said you were a spy, five seconds ago! And anyway Az, I wouldn’t necessarily _TELL_ you, unless you _needed_ to know... I could just... monitor the situation....”

“Well now, _THAT_ sounds sinister!” 

Ana tapped her fingers against her glass. “Hey, look, you aren’t the centre of the world, Az. I _like_ Newt, and it would be _really fucking awkward_ if you and Crowley go down in flames. My relationship is on the line, too!”

“I bought him a nice present, which he liked! How did we get from there, to going down in flames?”

“I thought it wasn’t a present?” Ana observed, leaning forward.

“It wa... I...” Aziraphale couldn’t find any words, and his eyes started to sting.

“Oh shit! Az! What’s going on? Are you alright?” Ana was all concern.

Aziraphale felt her hand gently on his back. He shook his head and sobbed harder. 

“Darling, what’s wrong? What can I do...”

“It’s... it’s... just....”

Both Ana and Aziraphale’s heads shot up, as Adam barged into the room. “What is it?” the child demanded. “What’s happened?”

Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath. “Ahh...”

“Did the gardener break up with you?”

“No...”

Adam’s face softened. “Do you miss my mum? I cry sometimes when I think about her...”

Anathema took over. “And, it’s okay to cry, Adam. You should cry if you want to. Men should cry, when they want to...”

Adam looked conflicted. “Mum said that men don’t cry. That they are brave. Soldiers of the Lord. But... I think she would want me to miss her... wouldn’t she?” 

Ana’s face made interesting shapes. “It’s... _definitely_ okay to miss you Mum. _Definitely_ okay to cry.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully, and studied his uncle. “Okay. Can I have some wine to cry into to?”

“No!” Aziraphale interjected, staring at the ceiling, to try to keep his tears and gravity from conspiring together. “When you are eighteen.”

“Fifteen!” Adam negotiated.

“Oh, I can’t... I don’t even think you’d _like_ wine! It doesn’t taste much like your cola! It’s very dry.”

“It does come in sweet...” traitorous Ana murmured.

Adam looked vaguely triumphant. “Anyway, I came in here for some milk...” he poured himself a glass, and drained it with shocking speed.

“Brush your teeth, again!” Aziraphale called after him as he vanished. “And you, young lady, you didn’t have to... oh _FUCK_! Dentists! How will I know when he has to go to the dentist? Who is his dentist, anyway? He’ll never tell me. How am I supposed to get his dental records? Just call around random dentists like a stalker? _Oh my god_...”

“You just take him to a dentist, Az. In six months, say. They’ll look in his mouth and make new records. It’s _fine_.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t do any of this... what if... what if he’s allergic to... I don’t know? Lignocaine? Penicillin? And the new dentist doesn’t know?”

Ana rubbed his back gently. “Do you really think Adam would let himself be injected with a medication he’s allergic to, just to spite you?”

“ _Yes_! Have you met him?!”

Ana snorted. “Even if that did happen, the dentist would know what to do. You don’t have to be perfect Az...”

“Don’t I? You should see them, Ana. The other parents, at that school... the way they look at me...A single parent... A single, gay, _male_ parent...”

“Yeah... well... never mind them,” Ana shrugged. “You don’t have to be like them, to be good at this, Az. And you don’t have to be perfect. Yes, it’s _important_ , but, it isn’t even possible to be _perfect_ , so let that go, immediately. You’ll fuck up, sometimes. He’ll get hurt, sometimes. He’ll fail tests, sometimes. He’ll rebel, and you’ll overreact. And he’ll be reckless, and you’ll be authoritarian, and then eventually, you’ll both come out the other side.”

  
  


Aziraphale sighed. “Do you think it would have been better, if I’d sat where Azrael sat, in that cafe, that day? If I’d been the one pulled under the car? If she’d been the one pushed free by the table... Then, Adam would have his mother...”

“His mean, cold mother, _may she Rest In Peace_ ,” Ana interrupted, in a whisper, glancing warily at the door. “And, she’d have a nasty story to tell her church, Adam included, about god smiting sinners, and sparing the virtuous. And my best friend would be dead. So, no, Az. That wouldn’t be better.”

“But, he’d have his _mother_ and...”

“Az, what if he’s gay?”

Aziraphale froze. 

* * *

  
“You’re quiet tonight, Angel...” Crowley said softly, a portion of food bouncing at the end of his fork. 

Aziraphale had noticed this before, that Crowley rarely managed to collect food on his fork and get it into his mouth, in the same series of motion. Something always got in the way. Some thought, some gesture.  


Crowley was wearing all three items they had recovered from the pawn-shop, this evening, the pendant replacing the pearls around his neck, and both hat-pin and brooch pulling duty in his complicated hair. It was a busy, slightly anxious choice, and out of kilter with Crowley’s usual style.

Aziraphale didn’t know quite how to be reassuring, however. “I’m so sorry, my dear. It’s not you, not at all. The furthest thing from it.”

Crowley frowned. “Is it the food? You don’t like the food? I’ve been coming here for years... but I’m no gourmet, like...”

“The food is divine, my dear. Quite the nicest Northern Indian I’ve had in ages. The spice palate is thrilling! I’m tempted to say it must be authentic, because it’s so very nice, but the truth would be I have no idea. Just that it’s delicious! And, you mustn’t worry. It’s Adam that’s got me worried. Or rather, something Ana said...”

Crowley finally remembered the end of his fork, and got the kofta ball into his mouth. Then, finding it his turn to talk, and his mouth full, his eyes popped wide and he began chewed frantically.

Aziraphale’s heart bounced.

“What did Ana say?” Crowley managed eventually, then reached for his wine glass, to wash down the haphazardly swallowed mouthful.

“She intimated that Adam might be gay...”

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “Oh no! Whatever will the neighbours think?!”

“Very droll, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed. “The _actual_ problem is, of course, that if that _were_ the case, I’ve been operating under a misapprehension, this whole time. I’m no longer sure I like the way I’ve handled things. Hating _me_ is one thing, hating _HIMSELF_ is...”

“If you’ll forgive me, Angel, this sounds above our pay grade. Maybe a job for a therapist?”

Aziraphale sighed. “He _HAS_ one, of course. He hates her. And, he told her that I lock him in his room, while I go out and buy taxidermied animals, and then, sew them together, in new configurations, in the basement.”

Crowley snickered. “It’s good to have a hobby!”

“We don’t even _have_ a basement! I don’t think I even _know_ anyone with a basement!”

“Television is really opening up the world to the younger generation! Showing them all sorts of possibilities!” Crowley trilled, happily.

“Honestly, my dear...”

“Maybe you should encourage his interest, eh? Take a taxidermy class together?! Really bond! Sew bat wings on rabbits, or whatever...”

“Darling, stop! Please! I... I will mention it to the therapist next time though...”

“The taxidermy classes?”

“ _What Ana said!_ Or maybe, I’ll just look for a new therapist. One he actually likes. I don’t know. This one did come highly recommended, though...”

Crowley smiled. “Highly recommended by _who_ , though? The ladies who lunch in Lululemon?”

“Fair point. I suppose I’ll have to ask Adam...”

“If he’s gay?”

“If he would like to try a different therapist.”

Crowley shrugged. “Suit yourself. My way is faster, though...”

“Let’s perhaps talk about something else, my dear. I didn’t mean to drag parenting concerns along on our date...”

“Rather comes with being a parent, I should say,” Crowley replied, agreeably. “Actually though, there was something. At the pawn shop, that name that the owner called me... I’m sure you must have questions...”

Aziraphale tore at some naan, absently. “Not really, my dear. I remember what you mean. Ghastly sounding syllable, whatever it was. What is it about dreadful nicknames that just stick and..?” He looked up, then, because Crowley had gone weirdly silent. 

“You don’t know what it means, do you?” Crowley gasped, quietly.

“I don’t think I do... no,” Aziraphale replied, putting the naan down.

If anything, Crowley grew even more distressed. “Oh... I thought the fact that you... I mean...”

Aziraphale frowned. “My dear, whatever is the...”

“It’s a drug thing, but I’m not on drugs!” Crowley stammered in a rush, too loud. Cringed. Stared at Aziraphale, miserably.

“Okay, my dear. Go on...”

“I mean, addiction is a... but, I’m not... I know you have a kid and I would _NEVER_... and I was never _actually_ on it in the first place... not _that,_ anyway... and, I’m just sort of twitchy sometimes, and the name stuck, but you don’t have to.... worry...” Crowley fell silent at the end of the sentence, as if he had unspooled, completely.

Aziraphale tried to smile reassuringly. “Thank you, indeed, my dear, for the clarification. But, I wasn’t worried, I’m not familiar with that particular piece of slang, and I’m not worried now. I’ll certainly take your word over that dreadful stranger’s...”

Crowley swallowed, his mouth opening and closing a few times, before he actually got words flowing. “Oh...when you didn’t want to come up, after the pawn shop, I thought that, maybe.... you were so _firm_ about not...”

“I...” Aziraphale stopped. “That...wasn’t why. I was worried about you, my dear. Worried I was moving too fast for you. That events were moving too quickly, and you might be losing your footing. I’m so _sorry_ that you felt judged... I wanted only to give you space...”

“I... oh.” Crowley’s voice showed signs of thickening.

Aziraphale scrambled for a change of subject. “But, how was work today, dear? Some plants for near a swimming pool, wasn’t it?”

Crowley sniffed and took a breath. “You are quite right. Odious man, though. Wanted all the wrong ferns. Rasp fern! For goodness sake!” 

“Philistine!” Aziraphale agreed, enthusiastically. “Rasp fern! The very idea!”

* * *

Crowley had claimed to be making cocoa, but, he returned to Aziraphale, waiting in Crowley’s sitting room, without it.  


Still wearing the hat-pin, brooch, and pendant.  


Wearing nothing else.

Aziraphale was lost for words.  
  


“I won’t freak out, this time,” Crowley insisted, walking towards him. His movement waslithe, but somehow self-conscious. 

“It would be alright, if you did,” Aziraphale breathed. He felt hot, and it was hard to concentrate on the words he needed.   
  


Crowley climbed into his lap. “You’ve been very patient. Such a gentleman.”

“My dear, how about if we just...”

Crowley softly hushed him. He picked up one of Aziraphale’s hands, and placed it, onto Crowley’s own, naked hip. 

The resulting frisson through Aziraphale’s nervous system, short-circuited whatever he might have been about to say. He tried to slow his own breathing, felt the air from his lungs rebound off Crowley’s chest, and come back to him, still warm.He wanted to kiss, lick, suck frantically, but, he clamped his lips together, and slowed himself down, moved his face forward, only slowly, his nose and the fullness of his lips pressing, the softest kiss. He ensured his hand on Crowley’s hip stayed gentle.

“You remind me of the sea,” Crowley whispered.

“The sea?”

“How it’s so powerful, but, mostly, just lies there. A few waves against the shore, yes, but mostly stillness. Patient. And yet, it could rise up like a tsunami, pull you out in a rip, drag you down in a whirlpool. But, it doesn’t. It’s _almost always_ patient.”

Aziraphale smiled. “If I’m the sea... might I swallow you, then?”

And Crowley laughed! 

“Oh that’s better!” Aziraphale smiled. “You seem happy, now. This is _supposed_ to be fun, after all...”

Crowley giggled. “If you are serious about swallowing me...”

“...I am! Very serious...”

“... then, I’d better get a ‘wet suit’! There’s a packet in my drawer, hang on...”

Aziraphale smiled. “We can move to the bedroom, if you’d...”

Crowley paused. “Actually, just here, if it’s okay? I... too many skeletons in the closest. I can’t get the door shut...”

“Here is lovely,” Aziraphale replied, lightly. “But, just so you know, my dear, nothing in your closet is going to scare me off...”

Crowley smiled, and impulsively pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll be right back... right back.”

“And, I’ll be right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are starlight in the river


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: sexual content, some discussion of a PTSD trigger and past domestic violence, discussion of HIV with some homophobia, discussion of AIDs, brief discussion of PrEP and anti-retro viral therapy, some references to sexism, a hot beverage is thrown at someone -not hot enough to cause injury but could have been,

They were sprawled together, Crowley all limbs and tendrils, like the roots of a tree, or the woven, wooden filaments of a nest. Aziraphale lay within. An egg, or a stone.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked Crowley, flinching immediately at his own stuffiness, his own _awkwardness_. 

“Yes,” Crowley sighed. “Turned out, it wasn’t such a big deal, after all.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Goodness! How _rude_!”

“ _Not_ what I meant, and you _know_ it!” Crowley growled, with kittenish exasperation, and it was all too charming, and he needed to be kissed again.

And _again_.

“You are, though?” Aziraphale pressed, denying himself the whine of neediness. How _different_ self denial felt, with Crowley, than it had with Gabriel. 

“I am!” Crowley replied, curling up, and pulling Aziraphale closer. “You didn’t touch my hair...”

“You asked me _not_ to...!

“Actually, I didn’t...”

“... maybe, not in so many words, but...”

Crowley chuckled, softly. “What I meant was... Luke always said he simply _couldn’t stop himself_ from pulling my hair, in... the heat of the moment. And you, you _did_.”

“Because, you asked me not to. Your hair is beautiful! And tempting. Nearly biblical! But, it is _yours_.”

“Biblical, you say?” Crowley observed, lightly. “As in, Samson and Delilah?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. More just _generally_... All glossy, and red, and hanging there...”

Crowley remained tethered to the thought a little longer, though. “But, you COULD resist it. You could resist, for my sake...”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “And, so could have this Luke, my dear. He _chose_ not to. And, I’m sorry he did so, and that he lied about that, too.”

Crowley’s face buckled slightly, and his next breath hitched, but when he moved, it was to fold in closer to Aziraphale, not move away. “I’m glad, it’s not like Samson and Delilah,” he said. “I don’t _want_ to be Samson.”

“Then, you shalln’t be, my dear,” Aziraphale answered, but lightly, most of his mind with his left hand, smoothing slow circles along Crowley’s lower spine.

* * *

“The gardener,” Adam mused, sculpting with his porridge.

“It’s ‘ _Anthony_ ’ !” Aziraphale corrected, tensely, rinsing out his mug, and trying to hurry Adam along, by way of passive-aggressive clattering.

“ _Anthony!_ ” Adam mocked. “How do you know he doesn’t have AIDS?”

Aziraphale clenched his teeth. 

But, he didn’t have time. They were late. _Perpetually_ late. 

“Adam... I don’t have _time_ , this morning. But, can you remind me to explain PrEP to you, later?”

Adam’s spoon clattered. “You want to send me to Prep School? You’re sending me away? _Where?!_ ”

Aziraphale pressed his forehead against the door of a high cabinet. “No! Not prep school! It’s ...medication... look... just don’t worry about it, okay? _Later_!”

* * *

  
  


“Hmm, yes. Who would have thought that Azrael would neglect to explain the finer points of modern antiretroviral regimens?” Ana intoned, drily. “We’ve almost sold out of that vampire novel, by the way. _Already_. And, if you are going to go through this with him, you should do it properly. Condoms, too. Want to borrow a banana? Just remember not to peel it first!”

“I can handle my own banana, thank you,” Aziraphale retorted crossly, rendering Ana giggly and useless for the next twenty minutes.

“What’s it about, anyway?” Aziraphale asked, when Ana _finally_ completed the world’s slowest banana consumption.

“Life? The Universe? Everything?”

“The vampire novel!”

“It’s about vampires,” Ana shrugged. 

“Well, _obviously_! But...”

“Oh... um... decaying aristocracy? Sex? Same stuff all vampire novels are about. Why?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I was thinking of taking home a copy for Adam. It’s clearly popular, if we’ve almost sold out, and it’s not the sort of thing Azrael would allow. Maybe if he reads it, and doesn’t end up possessed by a demon, he’ll... chill out a bit?”

“Chill out? Az, has your vernacular finally reached the 1970’s? Because, if so, what can I say but... _groovy_? Good plan, though. But, what if Adam _does_ get possessed by a demon, from reading the vampire novel? Would we even _notice,_ if Adam got possessed by a demon, from reading the vampire novel? Would Adam’s behavior potentially _improve_ , if he got possessed by a demon, from...”

“I’m putting aside a copy for him!”

“Fine, then I shall disappoint an extra thirteen-year-old in eyeliner, when we run out, by mid-afternoon...”

“I’ll order more...”

“That’s all I’m saying...! Your new nickname is Vitamin K, by the way, Az. Because, _banana_.”

“Potassium is a mineral, dear, not a vitamin. Vitamin K is something els...”

“It’s rude to call your boss a mineral.”

“And, you’d never _dream_ of being rude to me, would you, Ana?”

“I think the vampire novel is for you!”

“No you _don’t_! Take that back!”

* * *

Adam stared at the vampire novel, seemingly baffled, and Aziraphale was struggling to recall his own logic. He opted to just adopt an air of benign parental omniscience, until such time as he could make a hasty retreat.

“I have _heard_ of this,” Adam said, cautiously, as though describe atomic weaponry. “Pepper has... opinions.”

“Does she?”

“She says that she likes them for political reasons. Because, things teenage girls like aren’t treated seriously, even though teenage girls’ tastes matter as much as anyone else’s... but she also says that the main girl character is a sexy lighthouse.”

Aziraphale blinked. “A _sexy_ _lighthouse_?”

“Or a _sexy_ _lamp shade_ ? Something like that, anyway?”

“Perhaps you should read it yourself, and see what _you_ think?” 

Adam shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. I’ve got to read _something_ , I suppose. And, apparently, there are grisly murders in it. So, there’s that!”

“Well, excellent. Sounds _delightful_.” Aziraphale took a breath. “Now that’s sorted, Adam, now... your question this morning...”

“Googled PrEP,” Adam interrupted, shortly.

“Oh?”

“And undetectable viral load,” Adam continues cautiously, shifting a little in his chair. “My mum didn’t tell me that was a thing. She said people just always...died.”

“Well, a lot of people _did_ die,” Aziraphale sighed. “Right as I was growing up, it was...”

He unconsciously reeled, at the memory of his mother’s thrown tea cup, colliding with his head.

It didn’t shatter against his face, although, it did shatter, a moment later, against the sideboard. The tea had been hot, but not scalding. It stung his eyes.

Aziraphale blinked. 

Adam was staring at him. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale lied. “I am impressed with your research skills. Well done. And... look, Ana thinks I should talk you about condoms, too...”

  
  


_Ana thinks!_ he scolded himself. I’m _such a coward!_

Adam rolled his eyes. “Oh my God. I BEG of you. DON’T”

“Well, it’s not like this isn’t awkward as fuck for me, too!” Aziraphale bristled.

“But, why?” Adam whined. “How about if I stipulate the following: I have acquired - from somewhere - the knowledge of what condoms are AND what they are for AND how to use them. Given that, can we, please, _NOT TALK_ about this?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, _fine_. But, it’s only a temporary stay of execution, mind. Because you are eleven. Later... well, there’s more to it...”

“How can there _POSSIBLY_ be more to it?”

“Well... for example... um... well, how to insist on using a condom, if, say, someone were pressuring you not to, and...”

Adam snorted. “Well, what’s hard about that? _Just say no_ , right?”

Aziraphale gave up. “Right. Just say no! Fool proof! Very Nancy Reagan!”

“I don’t know who that is...!” Adam chirped smugly, before swanning out of the kitchen. 

_No, you don’t... lucky you!_

“... and thanks for the book!” Adam called. “You’re weird, though!”

* * *

“ _Honestly Az, it sounds like you did fine. It’s not meant to be a one-and-done situation._”

Aziraphale shrugged, almost knocking the phone off his shoulder. “I’m surprised he knew as much as he did. Azrael certainly didn’t tell him. I wonder who did?”

“ _Pepper and google, I should think,_ ” Ana replied, lightly. “ _Can you imagine how easy it is, for them? Do you remember looking up words like condom in the dictionary, in the hope of finding an extra bit of info, or maybe, another word to look up?_ ”

“Oh, you did that too, did you? I actually assumed that your mother would have been better at that sort of thing...”

Ana snorted. “ _She taught me the reproduction part, sure. But, let’s just say, I learned the word ‘clitoris’ from a Monty Python movie..._”

“Oof!”

“ _That’s patriarchy for you, Az. Wish I’d had google. Or a Pepper. Did he like the book, by the way?_ ”

Aziraphale sighed. “Honestly, dear, I don’t know. He took it, and didn’t throw it at me. So I suppose, at worst, he’s going to use it for _Papier-mâché_.”

“ _Well, it’s a good day when no one throws anything at you! That’s what I always say! Especially, working in retail!_ ”

  
A teacup shattered in Aziraphale’s mind. “Let’s talk about something else,” he suggested. “Hang on, let me pour myself some wine, and catch up...”

“ _Something else, like Newt?_ ” Ana suggested.

“Newt! Excellent idea!”

“ _Oh, good! Because, I was having no end of trouble segueing from a sex talk with your nephew, to letting you know that Newt told me that you had sex with Crowley. But, now that we are talking about Newt, Newt told me you had sex with Crowley!_ ”  
  


Aziraphale drained the whole glass of wine. “Isn’t this particular social arrangement convenient for you? You get to find out all about my life, and I barely need to be involved at all...” 

“ _I just want to know that you are okay! That it didn’t bring up anything... ugly for you..._”

“For me?! No! I’m fine. Although, um... did Newt happen to...um... did you get any context clues about... um... Is Anthony ‘okay’, is what I’m trying to ask?”

“ _I think so?_ ” Ana replied perplexed. “ _It seemed like happy gossip? Is there a reason why he wouldn’t be..?_ ”

Aziraphale filled his glass again. “Well um... well the jewelry, from the pawn shop, for one...”

“ _That’s P-A-W-N right?_ ”

“Ana,you know it is! Stop it! The jewelry for one... and... well... I don’t have the only bad ex in the world...”

“ _As I said. Happy gossip. It’s fine, Az. And, if you want to check in with him, then check in. WITH HIM_.”

“Fair.”

* * *

Aziraphale typed. Aziraphale deleted.

**Just checking in!**

... sounded pushy

**Missed you today**

... sounded vulgar

**Can’t stop thinking about you**

... sounded like something a psychopath would say.

Aziraphale gave up.

**Hi**

...he cautiously hit send, as if the phone might zap him for being creepy.

**_Hi! I missed you today! I can’t stop thinking about you!_ **

Oh, of course those things sounded lovely when _Crowley_ typed them. That’s _different_.

**I missed you, too, my dear. Very much. I hope you are feeling happy and well today!**

**_I am! Dancing on air, honestly. Disco dancing on air. Happy disco dancing, before disco went all mainstream and commercial, and got ruined, on air._ **

**You are delightful**

... sounded too foolish. Delete.

**I adore you.**

... too soon. Delete.

**_I had a lovely day thinking about you too._ **

... was better?

Ugh. _Send it._

Then, out of nowhere, Ana texted him an emoji of an orange.

**Ana, why did you send me an orange?**

  
  


**_Orange you glad I didn’t send a banana?_ **

**You are a menace!** Aziraphale texted... to Crowley...

  
  


**_Fair call! Definitely am!_** Crowley replied, before Aziraphale could panic.

**I meant that for Ana, dear boy, sorry. She was sending me unsolicited fruit emoji**

**_Is emoji the plural of emoji?_ **

  
  


**I believe so, yes?**

**_And, what do fruit ones mean?_ **

**In this case, a pun, and a reference to me having ‘The Talk’ with my nephew. Well not, ‘The Talk’. It’s more complicated, these days, and more than one ‘Talk’ is needed. I’m informed. But, ‘a’ ‘The Talk’.**

Crowley seemed to consider this for a moment, before a reply came.

**_You to be sucks!_ **

  
  


Aziraphale blinked at it.

**Sorry my dear? You’ve lost me?**

**_I was going to type -‘sucks to be you’. But, that would be mean! And I can’t be mean to an Angel! So instead...You to be sucks! At least that sounds promising!_ **

Aziraphale did not know how to reply.

**_You don’t know how to reply, do you?_** Crowley texted after a Aziraphale typed and deleted for a frantic minute. **_Reply in the form of fruit._**

  
  


Aziraphale paused.  **Erm..... passion fruit?  
**

**_You ROUGE!_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are a bowl of cherries.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Anxiety, Homophobia/gender policing, implied past domestic violence, implied past involuntary sex work.

In Aziraphale’s former life, he had been perpetually, and effortlessly, on time. Enough so, that Gabriel had mocked him for it, making tick-tock noises with his tongue whenever Aziraphale was ready early. 

Adam though, Adam seemed to _absorb_ time, like a collapsed star. 

And, it was raining.

So, Aziraphale arrived at the bistro in a state, slightly damp, and flustered, gratefully thanking a server when she greeted him with a sympathetic smile, and pointed him toward Crowley. Even late as he was, Aziraphale paused, for just a moment, to take Crowley in. Palazzo cut pants in a soft, drapy, fabric, with a damask print. Black on black. Heeled boots. Sleeves of burgundy silk. The pearls, again. Hair in a chignon. Pale, and trembling.

Aziraphale remembered himself, and hurried over. Crowley looked both relieved and anxious to see him. 

“My dear, I’m so very sorry!” 

Crowley smiled. “Your hair is wet! It looks spiky instead of misty... it’s a cute look on you...”

“Maybe we should shower together, if you like me wet,” Aziraphale remarked without thinking. Then froze.

Crowley tried to restrain a giggle, but had to ultimately concede to it. 

Aziraphale did, too. “I’m clearly determined to be inelegant this evening. You however, darling, are the very picture of elegance!”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s face intently, for a moment, before accepting the compliment with a small, shaky smile.

Aziraphale frowned. “Are you alright, Anthony?” 

Crowley nodded, just slightly too hard. “I am. Yeah. Of course I am.”

“I am _terribly_ sorry I’m late! I hope it didn’t embarrass you! You did get my text?” 

Crowley blinked. “Yes! No! It’s not that... I just... but, now you’re here, I feel better. It’s fine. Fine. We should stay...”

“My dear, whatever is the matter?” 

Crowley’s eyeline lowered to the table, and he tucked away a lose tendril of hair. “It’s not... it’s just... um... _one o’clock_...”

Aziraphale was momentarily flabbergasted. “But... we weren’t meeting for lunch? It was definitely dinner! I’m sure it... you _can’t_ have been sitting here for _six hours_!”

Crowley looked, at once, amused and exasperated. “No, Angel. Your one o’clock, my seven o’clock.”

It took a moment, but eventually Aziraphale took Crowley’s meaning, and locked eyes with a gentleman wearing a checkered sportcoat, and an unchecked sneer.

“Ahh....”

“It’s fine,” Crowley whispered. “I’m fine now... just, _before_...”

“Let’s just leave, my dear, you aren’t comfortable. We will find somewhere else. Or perhaps, just get ice-creams and walk along the river?”

“Can we?” Crowley squirmed. “Feels rude... I have been sitting here for a bit...”

“I’ll slip the staff something, it will be alright.”

“... and, he’d win then, wouldn’t he?” Crowley whispered. “Mr one-o-clock?”

Aziraphale sighed. Yes. That side was still winning battles. And the war was long. “It doesn’t matter, darling. You’re unhappy, so we leave. _That’s_ the point.”

Aziraphale stood up, with a smile, caught the attention, again, of the sympathetic server, and as a compromise, gave her both thirty pounds _and_ the real explanation for why they were leaving.

The server looked at first panicked that she might be being asked to intervene, then grateful, then sad, and then, profoundly uncomfortable, all in rapid succession. 

Aziraphale smiled at her haplessly, but it wasn’t his fault, either.

Outside, Crowley stood tense and still pale, arms folded. Large-eyed. “I overdid it, didn’t I?”

“Darling, whatever do you mean? You look cold. Are you cold?”

Crowley gestured generally, and unhappily. “I look _too_...”

“You’re a vision!” Aziraphale deliberately interrupted. 

“Ah! But a vision of what?” Crowley replied, trying for wry. A noble failure.

“Anthony, you’re beautiful! And, you walking in those heeled boots? It’s a _revelation_!”

“Angel! We have to _talk_ about it!” Crowley’s voice had clearly come out sharper than intended. He immediately looked horrified.

But Aziraphale forgave easily and instantly. 

A mascara-stained tear tracked over one of Crowley’s cheekbones. 

This did great and terrible things to Aziraphale’s heart. “Darling Anthony, but...listen! I _am_ talking about it. I’m telling you, I think you look beautiful. That’s the thing I want to say about it. What do _you_ want to say?”

Crowley sniffed. “That something about you makes me want to _be myself,_ around you. That hiding, around you, feels... _wrong_ and uncomfortable. Much more so than usual. _But_...”

“But _what_ , my dear?”

Crowley shuddered. “But... I don’t know...”

“Would you like an ice-cream?” Aziraphale asked, and was momentarily anxious that he’d accidentally employed his parenting voice.

But, Crowley laughed. “Yeah. I.. would. I want ice-cream.”

“Then, we will find a shop!” Aziraphale replied. “Nothing easier.”

Crowley, it turned out, actually wanted a lemon ice-lolly. Aziraphale’s vanilla ice-cream was coated in chocolate.

“Dresses,” Crowley mumbled, his shoulders relaxing as they accepted Aziraphale’s coat, draping them away from the evening chill. “I wouldn’t let you into my room because... _dresses_.”

“And, I think I said, nothing in your closet would bother me,” Aziraphale replied, lightly, and offered Crowley his arm.

* * *

“Double date!”

“Nightmare fuel!”

“Az!”

“Oh, sorry, Ana dear! Are we not free associating?”

Ana stamped her foot. “No! I want my best friend to spend time around my lovely new boyfriend! And, I want to spend time around my best friend’s lovely new boyfriend, and my lovely new boyfriend’s best friend!”

Aziraphale chuckled. “And how many people is that again?”

“Four!”

“Ah, but you missed one! Adam! What do we do with him?”

Ana shrugged. “Duct tape him to a bike rack? He can come?”

“So, that would be evangelical nephew, a gay couple, a witch, and Newt, in public? I’m back to _nightmare fuel_...”

“Dinner party, then?” Ana whined, attempting to batt her eyes winsomely. “Adam can bring Pepper...?”

“Even if he does, he’ll still bring the salt. Trust me...”

“So? Come on, Az. Please? I really want you to spend time with Newt. I’m trying to do _a thing_ here? I _like_ him. I want you to hang out, so _you_ can like him, and we can stand here, all day, and sell books, and talk about liking Newt. Please? I really, _really_ want this...”

“Could we, perhaps, try for a pizza party?” Aziraphale sighed. “That sounds easier to talk Adam into... and, at my place, so he and Pepper can disappear into his room. Make their own fun and not bother us...”

Ana smirked “That’s not a thing you are supposed to want...”

“He’s eleven! And, they’ll have Dog to chaperone...”

“Oh good point,” Ana snorted. “You are nailing this parenting thing, Az.”

* * *

  
**_Angel, out of 10, how conservative is Ana? Just trying to figure out what to wear... Newt says she’s good people, but you’ve known her forever..._ **

**Zero, Darling, honestly. Ana is fine.**

Adam, on the other hand... 

... but, maybe with Pepper to jump up and down on his foot, it would be alright. 

**_And you don’t mind if I..._ **

**My only concern, if you turn up in a ball gown, will be that I’m underdressed! Darling, you must wear whatever you please!**

**_Dangerous words, those!_ **

Aziraphale chuckled, and then telephoned Pepper’s mother, to beg the favour.

* * *

Azrael’s ghost was unquiet that evening, however. _You are letting that degenerate around my son?! On purpose?!_

“ _Very_ on purpose,” Aziraphale muttered, squeezing the dough he was kneading too hard. Letting it ooze between his fingers. “ _So_ on purpose, that I’m catering!”

Azrael glared. _You know I wouldn’t want that._

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Azrael! You are dead. Dead people don’t get to want things. And, if you did want him raised in your horrid, churchy ways, why didn’t you leave him to one of your horrid, churchy friends? You _can’t_ have expected me to do it! So why? Why?”

But, Aziraphale didn’t know the answer, so Azrael couldn’t answer him. Instead, she just stared and stared.

A quarter of a century ago, she had stared, too.

Stared and stared, as Aziraphale had fussed, and dithered, shoving things furtively into a suitcase. Trying to wrap his teenage mind around the idea that nothing he didn’t fit in there would belong to him anymore, in just a few moments. He’d had to be out of the house before six. The time had loomed in his mind.

He’d had to be out of the house before six, before father arrived home. 

It had been so hard to think. His steady, dependable brain refusing to apply itself to this problem. The problem of trying to fit a new life into that damn suitcase, and never mind the problem of where he was going to go with it, when he was done. 

He hadn’t had any time, at all.  


Certainly, no time for Azrael. Nine-years-old, her stringy hair sticking to her, then, perpetually grimy face. She had been wearing that purple play-suit she loved, the one that looked like a dress, but let her climb trees. As usual, she had been wearing no shoes, and there was dirt on her ankles, and underneath her toe nails. 

But, there hadn’t been _time_.

“Don’t leave!” Azrael had hissed, as he blew past her, suitcase in hand, mere minutes before his father’s car would have turned into the street. “If you leave, I’ll never speak to you again.”

He’d stammered that he’d had no choice, but there hadn’t been _time_.

Then, he’d walked to the park, and there had been _nothing but_ time.

Six weeks followed. Six weeks he didn’t think about, not then, not now, not _ever_.

And then, Anathema Device had sat down next to him, in the library. Aziraphale had liked her. They’d had English together. Maths too, but it was English where Ana had always said what Aziraphale was thinking. 

And, she had sat down next to him, in the library. Not too close. She had noticed he’d started flinching when people did that. “Ask me for help, Aziraphale.” She had said.

And suddenly, he’d had a home again. 

He had tried to talk to Azrael in the hallways, but she’d cut him dead. Wouldn’t look at him.

Her ghost happily looked at him now. _Stared_. 

“Just go back to Hell,” Aziraphale muttered. “Please!”

Then, he heard a little thump just outside the kitchen. “Adam?!” Aziraphale called frantically, frantically trying to recall what he might have, just now, said about Azrael. What he might have said _aloud_.

But... it was only little Dog, padding softly into the kitchen. He also stared at Aziraphale, but he was a great deal easier to figure out. Aziraphale found him a few morsels of ham and proceeded to accidentally teach him to _Sit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are a basket of puppies!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: references to fires, alcohol consumption, gender policing, references to past domestic violence

At some point in negotiations, it was decided that Adam and Pepper would have their pizzas delivered, rather than handmade, while Aziraphale cooked for everyone else. And so, at _that_ point, Aziraphale reverted the menu to things he was rather more comfortable preparing.

“But you won’t feel patronized, eating different food?” Aziraphale cautioned Adam, still in his football uniform and currently draining an alarmingly large glass of milk. 

“I will feel full of pizza,” Adam replied, disinterested. “And I won’t have to eat whatever Moose Butter is.”

“It’s _Moussaka_ ,” Aziraphale replied, without much hope. “No moose involved. It’s reminiscent of lasagne, only with aubergine instead of...”

“Pass!” Adam interrupted. “Food shouldn’t be purple. It’s unnatural.”

“You eat grapes...”

Adam shrugged. “Purple grapes are _red_.”

“Well, they...”

“They make red _wine_.”

“Grape flavoured lollies are purple...”

“Because red is being hogged by strawberries, and raspberries, and cherries,” Adam replied, with an air of finality. “Anyway, you already said Pepper and I can have pizza!”

“You _can_ have pizza! Actually, I don’t know why I’m arguing, either,” Aziraphale sighed, and set out fresh water for Dog.

“I _WAS_ going to do that,” Adam muttered.

  
  


Aziraphale decided to pretend he hadn’t heard. 

“That will likely be Pepper,” he said, instead, when the doorbell rang.

  
  


“Probably!” Adam agreed.

They stared at each other.

“Well, I can’t go! I haven’t gotten changed yet!” Adam said, eventually. Still sitting. Still drinking milk.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and went to admit Pepper, who was wearing a dandelion-coloured blazer, and was dangling a box of vegan after dinner mints from one hand.

“Hi! You look _stressed_!” she announced, barging in cheerfully. “I can help in the kitchen if you like, but not unless you make Adam help, too. It’s the _principle_ of the thing. I’m sure you understand.”

“Good evening, dear! And, while I thank you for the offer, everything is quite in hand, and... should children your age be using the oven? Is that considered... _age appropriate_?”

Pepper sniffed. “Well... _I_ know how to use an oven. Whether Adam can handle it...? _NOT_ a gender thing, by the way. But Adam is... well, _you know_...”

Aziraphale had no idea, actually, but he nodded along, amiably, until a moment later, he lost her attention to Dog, prancing excitedly for her attention. 

**I haven’t been teaching Adam how to cook!** Aziraphale texted Ana, frantically.

**_Breathe Az. I’malmost there._ **

Aziraphale went back to the kitchen, to check on the _tarte tatin_. And, should he happen upon a paper bag, maybe breathe into it, for a bit.

The tarte came out, and a roasting tray of vegetables, aromatic with garlic and rosemary, went in.

Aziraphale decided that, maybe, a slightly early glass of semillon couldn’t hurt.

Ana let herself in, when he was about halfway though the second glass.

“Hey, Az! Ooh! You look nice...”

“Pepper said I looked _stressed_ ,” Aziraphale pouted. 

Ana waved him away dramatically. “Pepper once estimated I was the same age as Isabella Rosellini.”

“How old is...”

“ _Sixty eight_! My point is, don’t listen to eleven-year-olds, if you want self esteem.”

“I suppose we are _all_ ancient to them...” Aziraphale sighed.

Ana poured herself some wine.

“Did you forget Newt?” 

“He’s coming with Crowley. I’m here a bit early, to help.” 

“I don’t _need_ help... I’m practically...”

“Help with _drinking_...”

Aziraphale offered a belated “Help yourself. You look _lovely_ , too, my dear.”

“Why, thank you! I...”

Ana’s phone pinged discretely, and she glanced at it for a moment. “Just going to have a quick word with...um... _Pepper?_ ” she then announced, scooping up her wine glass. “Be right back...”

“Is everything...?”

“ _Girl stuff_!”

Aziraphale decided to direct his confusion into the placement of water crackers on a cheese platter.

Ana glided back into the kitchen no more than thirty seconds before Dog, and then the doorbell, sounded.

“Hello! Thank you for having me! Smells delicious!” Newt announced, during the first two seconds of Aziraphale opening the front door. He captured exactly none of Aziraphale’s attention.

“Darling! You look stunning,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley looked incredibly anxious, but hopeful as well. And, indeed, _stunning_ , in dark mahogany lace, the dress close-fitted, knee length and sleeveless. Aziraphale recognized the Mimosa scarf he’d bought at the museum, tied loosely at the halter neckline. Bright-red waves of hair hung loose. 

“Too much?” Crowley whispered.

“Beautiful!” Aziraphale whispered back, and reached for Crowley’s hand.

It was only a matter of seconds, though, before they were confronted with Adam and Pepper.

  
No one moved.  
  


  
  
Then, Adam smiled. “Good evening, Anthony. You look nice. That dress is very pretty.”

Pepper grinned overbrightly, and steered Adam away by the shoulders.

Aziraphale blinked. 

“Whatever you have in the oven _truly_ smells delicious,” Newt ventured.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Merely roasting vegetables, my dear...” 

“Oh, jolly good! It’s been _ages_ since I’ve had proper roast vegetables. I can boil a potato, but it’s just not the same, is it?” 

“Oh, my dear, no! And you _must_ try roasting. Forty minutes in a very hot oven... once you’ve chopped and seasoned... I’ll show you... only, let me... would anyone like some wine?”

“Yes please!” Newt and Crowley answered in unison.

“I’ll get it! And more for me!” Ana answered, her voice sounding high and giddy.

Aziraphale gently squeezed the hand in his, and felt Crowley let go of a breath

Pepper’s head appeared around the corner. “Um... Adam’s uncle? Adam said we’re allowed to order pizza?”

Adam’s uncle blinked at her. “You can have as much pizza as you like, Pepper. And ‘Aziraphale’ is fine.”

“Okay!” Pepper vanished.

“Do come and sit down,” Aziraphale said to Crowley, and, as an afterthought, to Newt as well.

“I wonder how much pizza they are going to order,” Newt murmured.

Ana returned, and pressed wine glasses into everyone’s hands.

* * *

Newt, it turned out was an enthusiastic, if slightly artless, conversationalist. He bantered through a clearly well-practiced account of his disastrous time as a computer studies undergraduate. 

Aziraphale contributed sympathetic exclamations, as Newt regaled them with each new disaster and turn of ill-fortune. Ana provided bolstering arm squeezes, and Crowley, the odd gently wry quip, to keep the story rolling along.

“And so, there I am! Final exam!” Newt continued, over the remains of the tarte tatin. “Every computer in the lab is tossing sparks, all the other students are shooting daggers! No, never mind _daggers_. _Broadswords_! Or, I don’t know! Maybe _actual_ eye-bullets...!”

“Lasers?” Crowley suggested.

“... right! Twenty sleep deprived, studied-out, 3rd year computer studies students, ready to kill me, sparkles flying everywhere... and so naturally...”

“No!” Aziraphale gasps. “The fire alarm goes off?”

Newt nods and takes a gulp of wine. “The fire alarm goes off! And, I just picked up my bag, walked out of the building, and never went back. I bet there are still posters up, with a bounty on my head!” 

“Oh, you _poor_ dear! All that work...”

“Was all for the good, though,” Newt replied, amiably. “Because, two weeks later, I looked in a newspaper and saw Crowley’s ad, and went for the...”

“Nah... it wasn’t...” Crowley preempted.

“... no, it _was_. It really was. Went for _The Worst Job Interview Ever_! I started _crying_! And then, I had a panic attack, because I was cryingat a job interview. And then, because I was crying too hard, my _nose_ started _bleeding_. I bled all over the rug! Poor Crowley nearly called an ambulance...”

“And so, obviously, I _had_ to hire him, after that! He’d _literally_ put blood, sweat and tears into the interview! And the rug!”

“No stop!” Newt protested. “You’re minimizing it. What Crowley did- after fetching me a box of tissues and a glass of water, and getting me to pinch my nose properly. What he did was, grab this little Calathea, and press the pot in my hand. He told me to look at the leaves, count the stripes, feel the weight of it in my hand. And then he said, ‘ _This is a Calathea. They are finicky little rotters, but they are worth it, and they never explode_.’ And then, he hired me!”

Aziraphale melted. “Oh... oh that’s lovely!”

“No, it isn’t!” Crowley retorted. “Weren’t you listening, Angel? I gave him a _Calathea_! It’s like giving someone Zsa Zsa Gabor, as a house guest!”  
  


Aziraphale tried to think of a clever reply. 

  
  


But, tendrils of Crowley’s rose-red hair were curling around his delicate collar bone.  
  


Aziraphale found himself regretting employing candlelight. “Um... I think I’ve heard the trick with Calatheas is, they don’t like being left wet for too long?”

“Who _does_ like that?” Ana asked.

“Oi! No kink-shaming!” Crowley retorted.

Aziraphale blushed. “And...Is this Calathea... err...still with us?”

“It’s tried to turn up its toes, more than once, but yes,” Newt admitted, proudly. “It lives, and certainly, has never exploded.”

“Poor thing will never be the same, though...” Crowley sighed.

“It has been through some shit,” Newt agreed.

“I tell him not to over-fertilize and yet...”

“It’s been through some shit,” they finished together.

Ana applauded and poured herself more wine. “I am not driving home, am I?”

“Heavens, no, dear!” Aziraphale replied. “I was just considering swallowing your car keys. You can stay, if you like... I expect there will be _plenty_ of cold pizza for breakfast.”

“Nope! Newt will take me home, won’t you Newt...?”

“I will drive you to your home,” Newt clarified gently. “And then, drive me to my home.”

“And besides,” Ana continued. “By rights that is Anthony’s breakfast pizza. Isn’t it Anthony?”

Crowley smiled at her. “Is she just an alcohol lightweight, or did you two get started without us?”

“Bit of both, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale replied, with a sigh, resting his elbow on the table, and watching Crowley, heavy-lidded. It was handy to know the word _décolletage_. It was the name of what the candlelight was bouncing off. “I was nervous...”

“About me?” Crowley asked.

“No! About Adam! And, about me..,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m traditionally bad at dinner parties. I mean, I don’t set buildings on fire with them! But... they don’t usually go this well...”

“And the missing element is... drumroll... Gabriel!” Ana muttered.

Crowley’s fork clinked gently against a plate. “This is Gabriel of the garden fire?”

“Yes,” Ana replied, her face twisting. “Gabriel of the garden fire. And the broken fingers. And the black eyes.” And then, too late, she froze. “Oh Az! I’m _sorry_! I...”

Aziraphale coughed. “That’s more like it! Would anyone like coffee? Or tea? Err. Cheese?”

“ _Az_...” Ana whispered frantically.

“Ana, it’s fine, my dear. Don’t fret. I am going to get you some water though, and I’d like you to drink it, yes?”

Aziraphale had no idea what Crowley’s face was doing, because he studiously avoided it, haphazardly stacked some plates, and hurried to the kitchen. 

* * *

“Angel..?”

Aziraphale let the plates settle into the sink. He misjudged it, slightly, and the edges of his rolled sleeves collected some foam, but that was not the sort of detail that could possibly matter at this point.

“Anthony, dear! You look so _statuesque_ in those heels. Elegant...” he sniffed.

Crowley did look impossibly beautiful, one long-fingered hand on each edge of the door frame, every contour and angle divine. 

“Angel, are you all right?” Crowley breathed. “Poor Ana is mortified. She’s sobbing. You _will_ forgive her?”

“Oh, I already have,” Aziraphale sighed. “Ana is... Ana’s not going anywhere.”

“I’m not _either_ , you know, Angel,” Crowley replied, stepping into the kitchen. “Only, I told you about Luke, and...and the scissors... why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling.” Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s approaching shoes. “Nothing about _you_... I just...I don’t know.”

One of Crowley’s fingertips gently collected the dishwashing foam, from Aziraphale’s rolled sleeves. Then the finger reached out, cautiously, again, and tapped the bubbles onto Aziraphale’s nose.

Aziraphale laughed softly. He couldn’t help it.

Then, Crowley leaned forward and gently kissed the bubbles away.

“You’ll get soap in your mouth, darling.”

Crowley purred. “Then, I should probably whisper all sorts of dirty things to you, to justify washing it out.”

Instead, Aziraphale leaned forward and gently rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley folded an arm protectively around him. “Gotta say, _really_ starting to dislike this Gabriel person. Not. A. Fan.”

Aziraphale detected a light citrus fragrance. Maybe shampoo, maybe perfume. He breathed it in, and stopped thinking for a minute. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are your favourite kind of chocolate in the chocolate box.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: Allusions to past domestic violence, discussion of potential PTSD trigger, Allusions to past child emotional abuse.

With difficulty, and some reluctance, Aziraphale extracted himself from Ana’s apologetic, tearful embrace and said goodnight.

Crowley was watching him closely. “She’ll be fine, Angel. Newt is good people. I promise.”

“Oh, I know dear,” Aziraphale sighed. 

“Would you like help...? Um... washing up?”

“Oh, no dear. I have a tomorrow, and a dishwasher, for that.”

Crowley sighed softly and moved a step closer. Gentle fingers traced a line down the outside of Aziraphale’s arm. “I want to stay, Angel. I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, don’t be, dear,” Aziraphale replied, and then chuckled bitterly. He’d heard for himself how his voice had caught when he’d said it. “I would so love for you to stay, but... actually, _fuck it!_ Pepper is spending the night, so why can’t you, as well?” 

“Are we having a sleep over?” Crowley giggled. “Shall we tell ghost stories under the covers, with torches?”

Aziraphale smiled thinly. “If you wish, my dear. Why not?”

Crowley tsked unhappily, gently stroking Aziraphale’s shoulders and then leaned forward, nestling the top of Aziraphale’s head in his cheek. “What is your favourite way to be touched, Angel?”

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I’m not sure I’m up for...”

“Shhh, Angel. Not what I meant, sorry. How do you like to be held? Do you like to be the front spoon? Do you like to be cradled in one arm? To lie on your back and have it scratched? What do you like best? Because, whatever it is, I think you deserve to fall asleep like that tonight...”

Tears bloomed in the corner of Aziraphale’s eyes. “I... um...”

“Oh, it’s okay, Angel. No pressure. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

They set about then, in the enormous intimacy of a near silent night routine. Crowley waited by the door while Dog toileted himself, Aziraphale located a new toothbrush, soft-bristled and purple. 

“I don’t suppose you’d have any eye makeup remover?” Crowley asked, gently.

“I don’t think Azrael wore any,” Aziraphale replied. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley smiled. “I’ll make do.”

“There’s some sorbolene cream under the sink...”

“Perfect! Thanks...”

Crowley slipped off his heels. Aziraphale found a pair of drawstring three quarter length pyjama pants, satiny soft and powder-blue. On Crowley, they sat just below the knee. 

Crowley hugged him again, and flicked off the light. As their eyes adjusted, Aziraphale’s arms stole around the small of Crowley’s back. The ends of Crowley’s hair brushed against his forearms, and Aziraphale felt the shock of the intimacy, of Crowley’s hair against his skin, for the first time.

They went to bed then, Aziraphale purposefully hanging back, to let Crowley pick a side. Crowley went to Aziraphale’s. And Aziraphale lay down in Gabriel’s, flat on his back at first, his palm on his own stomach, rising and falling as he breathed. 

Crowley inched closer, and rested a hand, gently, on Aziraphale’s own.

Aziraphale swallowed. “My dear? Would it bother you terribly if we switched sides? I know I hung back, and let you pick, but, I’m not quite...”

“Of course, Angel! For heavens sake! It’s your bed!” Crowley sprang over him, so lightly and nimbly, that Aziraphale _did_ feel a transient rush of lust, after all. 

Aziraphale settled again, but Crowley remained propped up on an elbow. “You didn’t want me to know,” Crowley prodded, gently. “About Gabriel.”

“Oh, it isn’t that, dear,” Aziraphale sighed. “Not at all. Except... oh I don’t know. Maybe, yes. I like... I like feeling _strong_ around you. Only that’s silly, isn’t it?”

Crowley considered. “I don’t think it’s _silly_. Liking ‘feeling strong’ around me. But... feeling like you always _HAVE_ to be strong, around me... or, that some asshole hurting you means you _aren’t_ strong... well... I wouldn’t use the word silly, exactly...”

Aziraphale nodded, softly. “I’m sorry, Anthony.”

“No!” Crowley replied. “I didn’t mean... _oh hell_. Look. Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“ _Anything!_ ,” Crowley echoed, with a small laugh. “And you mean it too, don’t you? Anyway, Angel... I would like to... um... would you brush my hair for me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes momentarily widened. “Oh, Anthony dear... I mean, I would _love_ to, but you don’t have to...”

“I want to...I... vulnerability shared is vulnerability halved?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Well, I’m not sure I agree with your figures... but, I would never dream of turning down such a rare and precious offer. Assuming, of course, you really mean it...?”

Crowley nodded with a smile.

Aziraphale hesitated, and then rose to pick up a hairbrush from the bureau. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Crowley said, looking a little alarmed. “Your sister’s, though? Won’t Adam mind if...”

“It was my mother’s first, and I think my grandmother’s,” Aziraphale said, surprising himself with the huskiness of his own voice. “I always liked it more than she did. It’s handmade. Antique. Most of Azrael’s things are... gone, or packed away for Adam, later. This brush, though, I took back. I... in a different world, with different parents, it might have...” He trailed off, and just held the hairbrush for a moment, feeling its weight in his hands. A vague memory, too faint to see. Whispers, and the smell of rose.

Crowley waited, smiling.

And so, Aziraphale shook off the vision and   
sat behind him. “Are there any tricks, with long hair? I’ve never...”

“Umm... work from the bottom, but gradually stroke the whole length?” Crowley replied lightly. “Oh, and don’t get any ideas about spanking! I’m not that kind of girl...”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Understood! And, I intend to check in a lot. And, if you need me to stop, even straight away, just...”

Crowley nodded. 

Aziraphale reached forward, hesitantly, with his left hand. It was strangely hard to overcome the little taboo, but, he slowly worked himself up to caressing Crowley’s tresses, with the back of his fingers. “Alright..?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I think I love you,” Crowley blurted out.

“And, I love you,” Aziraphale answered, almost on the verge of tears again. 

“You said already!”

Then cautiously, moving with precise tenderness, Aziraphale began to brush Crowley’s hair. 

It was an oddly hypnotic task, demanding of gentleness, control, and rhythm. Aziraphale remembered slow-dancing, with Gabriel, their third date, his colleagues’ wedding, and that was the closest comparison he had. Roy Orbison or something, ugly artificial candles in the centerpieces. Gabriel had been wearing the shiniest shoes in the room. He’d thought Gabriel beautiful, then.

Aziraphale kept gently brushing until the dance, and the music faded. Until the present, and the moonlight, took over. Although it was too dark, he _imagined_ he could see the red of Crowley’s hair, the copper where it was sun-kissed, the undertones of plum at his nape. Imagined the colours dancing, as the brush stretched and slackened each tendril.

Crowley began humming, gently. Perhaps to signal that all was well, perhaps half caught in memory as well.

“My dear...”

“Hmmm”

Over and over. Call and response. A light and a whistle in the darkness.

Finally done, they curled in together. Crowley lay flat, and Aziraphale lay his head on Crowley’s stomach. Soon, he felt Crowley’s fingers caressing his curls. His exhaustion felt healthier now.

He slept...  


...And he woke.

It was 3am, now. Crowley wheezed, adorably, beside him. He grabbed his phone and texted Ana something cheery, so she would remember that he had forgiven her, when she woke up in the morning. Then, he set an alarm, because Ana was unlikely to make the shop’s Sunday opening time. 

All that done, he turned to face the ghoul staring him down, from the corner.

_In my bed, no less, brother?_

“You are dead, Azrael dear. You no longer have things. Not your bed, not your hairbrush. You don’t need things, any more. I’m sorry, Rae, you are over.”

_Still my son, though, Aziraphale. Don’t you ever dare forget that. Death isn’t strong enough to rob him from me. And neither, dear brother, are you. _

“You need to let him go, Azrael. You need to let me go. Adam and I need to find a way to fit together. He needs me. Trust me on this, sister, because I’ve been there. I’ve _had_ NOBODY. You don’t want that... I saw your face, when you looked at him, talked about him. I _know_ you loved him. You would _not_ want him to have nobody. You would never have wanted that. Trust me.”

_Trust you? Trust YOU, because you’ve had nobody? Who did I have when you left me, Aziraphale? When you abandoned me, in that house?_

The ghoul changed, then. Into the little tomboy, with the wild hair, and the dirty, ever climbing feet. 

_You left me there, and you saw what they made of me. You never saw the real me, again. Did you? Did you?_

“No. No, by the time we met again, you were gone. You were... almost gone.”

_You left me there._

“I’m sorry, Rae.”

The ghoul child jutted out her chin. _I don’t forgive you._

Aziraphale sighed. “Was it you, though? Is that the answer? It wasn’t _her_ that left Adam to me? It was _you_?” 

Ghoul-child Azrael’s face twisted, into a smile. _I don’t know ‘cause you don’t know!_ She replied, sing-song.

“Angel?” Crowley’s eyes shone in the soft light.

“Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Is everything alright?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Ghosts, my dear. Just ghosts.”

Crowley groaned, and rolled to face the clock. “Agh. Well, it’s past the witching hour, so tell them to fuck off!”

“Fuck off, Ghosts,” Aziraphale obliged, happily. “My Anthony is sleepy.” 

Crowley giggled. “I like being yours, I think. I don’t usually like it. It usually gives me the creeps. But, it sounds different, when you do it. Like love goggles, but for ears. Love... ear-trumpets?”

Aziraphale giggled, too. “That is... that is quite an image.”

“You are quite an image!” Crowley pouted.

Aziraphale wordlessly sought permission for a kiss. Their lips felt right, together. They were learning how to fit effortlessly.

“Go back to sleep, my dear,” Aziraphale cooed. “What’s _your_ favourite way to fall asleep?”

He took a gamble, and began rubbing circles on Crowley’s slim, pale back.

“With you,” Crowley replied sleepily. “My new favourite way is... with you.”

“I think my heart just exploded,” Aziraphale whispered back.

“Clean it up in the morning,” Crowley murmured. “Ghosts all gone?”

“Yes, my dear. Ghosts all gone.”

In the corner, Azrael rolled her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are a favourite blanket with satiny trim.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: Discussion of gender and of pronouns, references to domestic violence

In the morning, Aziraphale had enough time to _really study_ the length of Crowley’s eyelashes, before they flickered open.

“Give it to me straight, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “Exactly how much eye makeup do I have smeared everywhere? Because, if it’s anything over a 3/10 on the Panda Resemblance Scale, I may have to expire from shame.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It suits you, actually. You are pretty, when you are all snuggly and sleepy.”

Crowley humphfed a sound of disagreement, but also smiled too brightly, to really pull it off. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a shower, Angel? Before I face the kids? Adam might not share your appreciation for Pandas.”

“By all means, if you would like a shower, have one, darling...”

Crowley nodded and then frowned for a moment, as if he were about to say something else, but then seemed to change his mind and sprang out of bed. “You don’t need the bathroom first?”

“Been already.” Aziraphale called, and then set out the least oversized of his oversized t-shirts, for Crowley to add to the pyjama pants, when he emerged.

Then, he threw on a robe, and set off to the kitchen, to put the kettle on, and let Dog out. Arriving however, he encountered Pepper, in a scarlet tracksuit, with too much porridge, and Dog already chasing sparrows in the garden.

“I made too much porridge, Adam’s Uncle, I’m sorry! I’m used to making it for my brothers, too. Cause I’m older, mind, not cause I’m a girl. And I was on autopilot, I guess?”

“Perfectly understandable, my dear, not least for first thing in the morning! And, I’d quite fancy some porridge, if it’s going spare. And, remember, you may call me Aziraphale, if you like, rather than Adam’s Uncle.”

Pepper smiled, perhaps about to answer, when Crowley ambled in to the kitchen, clad in the pyjama pants and t-shirt. And distractingly bare-footed. “Good morning, Pepper!”

“Good morning... Adam’s Uncle’s friend! I mean... Aziraphale’s friend!”

“Anthony will do!” Crowley replied with a crinkled-nose smile. 

“Okay!” Pepper answered. “Good morning, Anthony! I’m Pepper...!”

“So I hear!”

“... and I use she/her pronouns!” Pepper finished, looking at Crowley, with some uniquely childlike combination of expectant and nervous.

“And those are good pronouns!” Crowley agreed. “Some of my favourites. No Adam this morning?”

“He’s been in the bathroom for ages!” Pepper blurted out.

“Oh!” Crowley replied. “Well, the en-suite is free, if that’s pertinent information.”

Peppers face melted in gratitude. “Thanks!” she called, as she ran out the door.

“Oh... poor dear...” Aziraphale murmured in her wake. “I mean, I could see she looked uncomfortable, but...”

Crowley poured a cup of tea. “But?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I suppose with my upbringing, children being nervous around adults, is, well, the _default_...”

“It would be nice, if it was different for them,” Crowley sighed. “Wouldn’t it?”

Aziraphale handed Crowley a bowl. “Pepper made us porridge. Would you like some?”

“Porridge is a serious breakfast,” Crowley mused. “An _entirely_ serious breakfast. I suddenly feel very ‘ _of the land_ ’ holding this. Like, I might have to go thresh something, in a field, after.Great word, isn’t it? _Thresh_...”

“Have I been using the wrong pronouns, for you, darling?” Aziraphale asked. “Have I been... well...”

Crowley stared at the porridge. “I mean... I don’t _think_ so? To be honest, I’m not entirely... no. No, I don’t think so... let’s just stick with ‘he’, for now.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well... alright, dear. But... if you ever did want to retable the matter, then, please...”

He cut himself off, abruptly, when Adam barged in. “Pepper?! Have you seen my... _Oh_! Where’s Pepper?” 

Crowley snorted. “She’s in _our_ bathroom, because you are a terrible host, kid.”

Adam stared. “Excuse me, did you say _YOUR_ bathroom?”

Crowley blanched. “Figure of speech... “ he murmured. “Sorry.” 

“Would you like some brown sugar, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. “Adam, Pepper has made us porridge.”

Adam grimaced, and wandered over to the toaster, while Crowley stirred a spiral of sticky brown sugar into his oats.

“Did you sleep well, Adam?” Aziraphale asked.  


  
  


Adam ignored him.

Pepper reappeared, then. 

“Everyone else decided _they_ used he/him pronouns, while you were in the bathroom,” Crowley said. 

Pepper laughed. “Fair enough!” She sat down and Aziraphale handed her a bowl of porridge. 

“Would you like some sugar, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “Or, there are blueberries?”

Crowley looked appalled. “Oi! You didn’t offer me blueberries? How come _she_ gets blueberries?”

“I’ve only just remembered them, dearest!”

“It’s chivalry gone mad,” Crowley muttered.

Pepper laughed, again. “Actually... Aziraphale? Are you _sure_ it’s alright to call you that..? If I am in your good graces, I was hoping for a favour. There’s this book the library won’t let me borrow, by Julia Serrano.. and I was wondering if you’d be able to order it in for me... I’ve got money and...”

“I’m very happy to treat you to a book, Pepper,” Aziraphale replied, sipping his tea. “And, indeed, I shall! Just text me the title you want. I do wonder, though, if I should have a word with this librarian, if they aren’t letting children access...”

“Mum already tried,” Pepper explained gloomily. “No luck there... According to mum, they said...”

“Actually, _I_ need a favour, too,” Adam interrupted, loudly.

Pepper’s face twisted in annoyance, but she stilled.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, wondering if he should be sticking up for Pepper, instead.

“There’s this thing, after school on Wednesday. Like a father and son club thing...”

“Right...” Aziraphale replied, wondering if the favour was going to involve attending, or NOT attending. And which he was hoping for.

“It’s like power tools, and fixing things. And cars. You know. _Man stuff_...”

“Right...”

“And, I was wondering if you could ring Gabriel, and ask him to take me?”

It was a strange sensation.

Like a blow to the chest.  


  
Or losing his grip on a cliff. A cliff he’d had no idea, a moment ago, he’d been clinging too.   


“Excuse me,” was all Aziraphale managed to say, as he staggered out of the kitchen.

  
  


* * *

“Angel?”

Crowley was knocking on the bathroom door. A little loudly.

To be heard over the shower, Aziraphale presumed. It had run cold, maybe ten minutes ago, but Aziraphale felt no compulsion to get out. 

Being cold felt _fine_.

“Angel, Pepper needs to go home. Is it alright if I get your keys, and drive her? Angel?”

It took Aziraphale four or five attempts to get an answer out, at an appropriate volume.

Azrael’s ghost was watching him. Her long hair was wet, as if she’d been caught in the rain. 

_What’s your problem now?_ she scolded. _Get up. You’re needed. You have guests!_

“No, dear. I can’t. I’m sorry. Not right now.”

Time passed. 

Eventually, Crowley knocked again, and this time, came in to the bathroom.

“I took Pepper home,” Crowley announced gently. “And apologies, but, as you see, I did it in a dress. I figured, if your daughter is getting dropped home by a stranger, it’s better that they aren’t wearing pyjamas.”

Aziraphale flinched. “I’m sorry I put you in that position, my dear. And I shall, of course, text Pepper’s mother and explain.”

“I’m not sure you need to,” Crowley replied. “She didn’t seem remotely put out. Seemed excited to meet me, in fact. She gave me a bag of home-grown tomatoes for you, but I’m afraid you’ll find I’ve stolen them.”

“You are in for a treat then, dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “They are an heirloom variety. Really rather delicious...”

“Got some eggs, too,” Crowley continued. “Eggs there’s no need to feel guilty about. I met the hens. Those were some very self-satisfied hens.”

“I like the red one...”

“So... you aren’t angry, Angel? With me, I mean? I didn’t... err... _out_ you?”

Aziraphale shook his head in astonishment. “No, dearest. As I believe I’ve mentioned, it’s been _quite some time_ since I’ve been mistaken for straight.”

Crowley sat down on the bathroom floor, knees folded together, matching Aziraphale’s eye level, face to face, only the shower screen between them.

“Adam’s in his room,” Crowley continued, gently. “He went on his own, I mean. I didn’t _send_ him there. I didn’t... _parent_. I think he knows he fucked up, but, I’m not sure... well, I wasn’t sure how much he _knows_...”

“And, I shall have to text Pepper too,” Aziraphale murmured, trying to collect his thoughts. “To apologise for so rudely... I’m not cut out for this, you see. For parenting. Losing my shit, at the slightest provocation. I _knew_ I couldn’t do it... I...”

“Angel...”

“I always lied,” Aziraphale continued. “About how I got injured. To Azrael, before she died, and to Adam, after. So, I don’t think Adam knows. He must think I’ve abandoned him... a child! Two children!... And, he must have no idea what he said wrong...”

“Yes, he bloody well does!” Crowley interrupted. “That’s why he said it. What breakfast were _you_ at? He _meant_ to hurt you, although... although, maybe not this badly...and, as for ‘abandoning children’? You stayed in the house, they are eleven... oh, and there was another, semi-responsible adult present. I’m not sure I’d get fitted for a black hat _just yet_...”

“I should never have put you in that position...”

“Angel! I’m _fine_... don’t worry about that.”

“You didn’t sign up for kids...”

Crowley sighed. “Kids are people!And, we all opt in to the social contract, at some point! Probably! Look, it’s Sunday. No philosophy on Sundays, okay? I’m... I’m going to put a towel in the drier for you. Make it warm and fluffy. And, I’m going to make you something to eat. And, in ten minutes, when the towel is warm, you are going to get out of there, wrap yourself in a towel, have something to eat, and maybe text Ana, because I assume it’s her who’s blowing up your phone. You can talk to Hell-spawn when you are ready. Okay? Ten minutes.’

Aziraphale nodded. “Alright, dearest. Ten minutes.”

_Ten minutes._

Azrael laughed. _What do you think, brother? Can you grow the hell up, in ten minutes? Get over this tantrum, in ten minutes?_

Aziraphale refused to look at her. “Sorry, Rae. I can’t deal with you, now. Not your ghost _AND_ your life. Not all at once. It’s too much.”

Crowley stepped back into the bathroom. “Angel? You okay? Did you say something?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are blueberries on your breakfast.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Homophobia voiced by child, gender policing voiced by child, mention of past domestic violence, mention of past domestic violence against a child. Reference to religious arguments for domestic abuse, passing reference to the concept of child molestation, reference to violence against animals, passing reference to foster care

Aziraphaleached, as Crowley wrapped the warm towel around his shoulders.  


Crowley’s brow furrowed in concentration, as he used a corner to gently wipe Aziraphale’s face dry, before pulling him into a bonecrushing hug.  


Aziraphale imagined his heart was a sea sponge, baked dry on coral sands. And that Crowley was warm, crystal clear, Pacific brine.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured. Over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley tsked, and dried Aziraphale‘s nose an unnecessary second time. “For what, Angel? For what?”

Aziraphale didn’t know, but then, when he saw patches of wetness on Crowley’s evening dress, it became about that. “Your dress, oh my dear...”

“It will dry, Angel! You appear to have showeredin water, rather than bleach, orsulphuric acid. So, all is well.”

“I must admit, my dear, I don’t know much about these sorts of fabrics...”

Crowley smiled. “Tougher than they look, Angel. Don’t fret! Oh! Did you know that loofahs are plants? I’m embarrassed to admit, I was a-week-ago old,  when I learnt this! They arebloody cucumbers, or something...”

“I was just thinking about sea sponges!” Aziraphale blurted out, because, for a fraction of a second, this felt important. “I _was_!”

Crowley’s nose crinkled. “Spooky!”

“And, thank you!” Aziraphale continued, quickly. “Thank you for the towel. It felt...” 

  
  


It felt like some old, primal wound, deep in his soul, had been temporarily, but profoundly, salved. It felt like, if he thought about it too hard, it would bring him to his knees.

  
  


“... lovely and warm,” he finished. “So _caring_. I love you.”

Crowley’s face softened with indulgence. “Love you too, Angel. But, you are far too easy to please! I just put _your_ towel in _your_ drier...”

“And you looked after the children. Drove Pepper home...”

“Well, that was no trouble. They ARE eleven. They only tried to stick forks in electrical sockets three or four times. And, as for driving Pepper home, I got eggs and tomatoes out of the deal... I can probably put off shopping for two more days, now!” Crowley mused, distractedly, playing with Aziraphale’s hair. “Ha! I just sculpted you devil horns!”

“Those will come in handy for talking to Adam,” Aziraphale sighed. “Trying to explain, again, why he can’t see the one person he’s bonded with since...”

Crowley huffed. “Oh, spare me, Angel! Gabriel is a nasty, abusive piece of work. Slimier than the short-distance slime champion of the Hagfish Olympics. And the worst possible sort of role model...”

“You haven’t actually met him, you know,” Aziraphale replied, gently.

Crowley’s voice shifted a tone higher. “I don’t _need_ to meet him. I know he dated you, and was _cruel_. To _YOU_. That he hurt you, and somehow didn’t immediately launch himself into the sun in shame! I...” Crowley trailed off then, cheeks flushing, and eyes sliding away from Aziraphale’s gaze. “I... _um_... I was trying to lay out some comfortable clothing for you. But, I found pyjamas and I found tailored trousers, and, not really anything in between... sorry! You don’t have a secret stash of tracksuits somewhere?”

“I’m afraid, I’m rather too fond of the tailored trousers and shirt sleeves, darling,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Those are my _comfortable_ , to the extent anything is. My armour, as silly as _that_ is...”

Crowley’s fingers smoothed out the horns and set a few curls in their place. “Not silly. Or if it is... my armour is all pleather and polyester lace!”

“And heels. Don’t forget the heels...”

“Have a soft spot for heels do you?” Crowley purred. “Or, is it a _hard_ spot, for heels..?”

“Darling, please! I have to go parent!”

“Do you need to warm up or something? Like tongue-twisters or theatre-craft games? ‘ _What a to do’,_ and what not?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Not the worst idea! But, no. I _do_ think I should get dressed, however.”

“Wear the navy shirt,” Crowley suggested. “It’s very stern. Strongly parental...”

“What would I do without you, dear?”

“I’ll pick out a tie!”

“I’m not wearing a _tie_!”

Crowley paused. “How about a bow tie, but like, undone around your shoulders... like it’s been a long day, and it’s time for _serious talk_...”

“Darling, _really_..!”

“Shhhhh... trust me...”

* * *

Aziraphale knocked on Adam’s door, and was ignored. He wondered if he should respect that silence. How reasonable was it to barge in there? Did he really have cause? 

After the numb, timeless miasma of those first few days before the funeral, Aziraphale had set foot in Adam’s room only a handful of times. And, each of that handful had been laundry-related.

He could, he realised, procrastinate about boundaries, for quite some time. He had no frame of reference. His own parents never knocked, and, towards the end, he’d not been permitted a door.

Dog whined at his feet. 

“I suppose, I’d rather thought you were in there already,” Aziraphale murmured.

Dog scratched at Adam’s door, and Aziraphale, given as good an excuse as he was likely to get, opened it.

  
Adam lay on his bed, with headphones on.  


  
  


Tinny music reached Aziraphale ears. He recognized fucking _Spirit in the Sky_ of all things. 

  
  


Adam pretended not to look over at the door.

  
  


Dog scarpered in, and settled on the bed.

  
After a moment, and more slowly, Aziraphale joined Dog. The room smelled of teenager. Aziraphale resisted the urge to open the window.

  
  


Adam ignored him.

Aziraphale resolved to wait until the end of the song, even though it made him grind his teeth. It had been years since he’d heard it the whole way through. Radios had buttons.

“Adam...” he began, as the music ended, and the unintelligible chatter of an ad began.

No answer.

“Adam?”

“WHAT?” Adam sprang up, with such force that Aziraphale very likely flinched. “WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE WRONG NOW?”

“If you take off your headphones, I’ll explain!” Aziraphale replied, the dual sound track, of the ad and of his nephew, was setting him on edge. He glanced at the corner of the room, and saw that Azrael had invited herself to the conversation.

_Of course she had._

Her long dark hair tumbled like weeds into the shreds of a white shroud.

“Oh FFS, Rae, a shroud? I buried you in a trouser suit!  Why the high drama?” he muttered.

“What’d’you say?” Adam asked.

Aziraphale could only shrug, but then Adam finally pulled off his headphones, and set his uncle, mercifully, back on track again.

“Adam, listen, I apologise for the... _strength_ of my reaction, at breakfast... I do owe you something of an explanation, I suppose. But, Gabriel is out of our lives for a good reason, and so I would like you to, please, listen to me, and perhaps, be a bit patient...”

“What reason?” Adam demanded. “ _Why_?! It isn’t fair. He’s the only one of you people I really _like_! He’s the only one who’s... like...”

Aziraphale took a breath. “Go on...”

Adam crossed his arms. “Oh well, I can’t, can I? I can’t think of anyway to say it, which won’t piss you off. Whatever word I use will be the wrong one! And you and Pepper will just give me shit about it! So, I can’t even defend myself, because all the words aren’t allowed. It isn’t _fair!_ It’s against my human rights, or something.”

“Perhaps you were trying to say that Gabriel is very traditionally masculine?” Aziraphale prodded, unhappily. “And that you admire that?”

Adam’s face twisted into a sneer. “Alright, yeah! _You_ said it, so yeah. He acts like a proper man, even if he is bent, and so yeah. I hate him least. And, that just kills you, doesn’t it?”

“No, that’s not... Adam, listen. The problem with Gabriel isn’t with how he dresses, or even how he talks really. It’s what he _says_ , and what he... _does_. You remember that he... _slapped_ you...”

Adam squirmed. “That’s.. that’s _normal_ , though. ‘He who spares his rod hates his son’...”

“But, your mother didn’t hit you...”

“Sometimes,” Adam whispered. “But, only when I deserved it! She was a good mum. She _loved_ me...”

Aziraphale rubbed his forehead, and couldn’t help shooting a resentful look to Azrael, waiting in the corner.  


The wraith shrugged. 

“She _did_ love you. But, she shouldn’t have done that. And Gabriel shouldn’t have done that. And, he hit me too. And, he shouldn’t have done that either...”

“But, what did you expect?” Adam replied, sounding as exasperated as Aziraphale felt. “Wives are supposed to submit to their husbands... so, if you are going to go against the natural order, and play wife to a man, then that’s what you should have expected!”

“Adam, that’s _nonsense_...”

“NO!” Adam shouted. “It isn’t nonsense! It’s in the _Bible_ , and my mum TOLD me! She told me that’s why Gabriel hit you, and she TOLD me that you should have expected it. That that’s what _happens_! And that’s why we have to do what’s _Godly_. And what’s _natural_. Or... ”

Aziraphale blinked. “Adam, are you saying your mother KNEW that...no... actually. It doesn’t matter. We are off track, again. Adam. Nobody deserves to be hit.”

“What about murderers?”

“Well...”

“What about child molesters?”

“Adam, _please_! Please... just listen! Violence is wrong. Violence in the home is _worse_ than wrong, it’s abusive. It’s soul-destroying. I’m sorry your mother hit you, she shouldn’t have, and, I never will...”

“Well, of course _YOU_ won’t,” Adam shouted. “Because, you are weak, and you know I’d hit you back, even harder, because...”

Aziraphale stood up, because his whole body was screaming at him to run.

_He’s eleven,_ he shouted at himself. _Eleven_.  


  
  


“We can discuss this more when you calm down,” he managed.

  
  


Adam stared. “Are you going to cry again?”

_Yes_.

“Well... yes! Probably!” Aziraphale replied. “Adam, the things you say...! _Look_. No Gabriel! And, no hitting! Not me, Not any future spouse or children. Not Dog! And, that’s it. No more discussion. Just... no!”

Adam stared, and then, his face crumbled. “Why would you _say_ that?” he howled, and pulled the little dog into his lap. “I’d never hit my Dog. I’d never! I’d _never_!”

“Adam... I’m...”

“Get OUT!” 

Aziraphale went. 

* * *

Crowley’s arms were waiting for him, and Aziraphale took advantage. Falling in. Sobbing. Hyperventilating.

Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s curls. “Went well then, did it?”

“I can’t do it! _I can’t_!” Aziraphale wheezed.

“Hush, Angel. Shhh. You _are_ doing it. It’s alright...” Crowley gently kissed his forehead, and sought Aziraphale’s eyes. A hand on each cheek.

“I’m not. I’m _not_ , that was awful. _I’m_ awful. I’m...” 

“I’ll admit, I only caught the high volume portions,”Crowley mused. “But, it could have been worse. You can go back, when you are ready. Repair anything that needs to be repaired. Reestablish... things...”

“ _Things_?”

Crowley laughed. “Cut me some slack! I have read exactly one parenting book!”

“It’s amazing you’ve read even one, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, wiping his eyes.

“I _do_ like you an awful lot...”

“You’d have to!” Aziraphale muttered. “Good gracious, what a mess!”

Crowley sat down on the bed, crossing his legs. 

  
  


Aziraphale watched, pleasantly distracted.

“I’m afraid I’ve been texting with Ana,” Crowley continued. “I just wanted to check she’d managed to crawl out of bed, and open your bookshop, initially. But, I’m afraid, I gave her a run down of the morning’s events. She’s coming by after closing, and asked me, in the meantime, to... hang on, I want to quote this properly... ‘ _don’t let Az_ _crawl up his own ass for failing to be the perfect parent_ ’...”

Aziraphale laughed. “What WAS that accent?”

Crowley sniffed. “That’s exactly how she sounds!” 

“My dear, I’m sorry, but... that was truly _awful_!”

Crowley smiled. “Outrageous! Such bad manners! Make it up to me immediately!”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin!” 

“Well, you hurt my pride and my feelings,” Crowley pouted. “So, I suggest you kiss them better.”

Aziraphale shook his head, suddenly unable to avoid returning the smile. “You don’t half know how to distract a fellow, do you?”

“I’ve been told I’m quite diverting,” Crowley purred. “So, come on! Kiss them better.”

“Kiss your _pride_ and your _feelings_ better?” Aziraphale asked. “And, where are you stowing your pride and your feelings these days?”

Crowley smirked. “The usual places.”

* * *

“Little shit,” Ana muttered, finishing her omelette. Crowley had left behind some of the eggs and tomatoes, after all. “ _Gabriel,_ indeed!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, it’s not as through I _do_ know my way around an engine, or a power drill. Although... point drill, press button? How hard can _that_ one actually be?”

“Newt is perfectly handy,” Ana fumed. “And so am I. And Crowley. He didn’t _have_ to ask for _Gabriel_. He was just being, well... a _shit_. You’d think he’d be grateful. You keep him out of foster care, get him a dog...”

“I don’t want him to be grateful for those things, Ana. _No_ child should have to feel grateful, just for being cared for.”

“ _That_ child is working very hard to be the exception,” Ana muttered, although much of the venom had faded from her voice. “Fucking _Gabriel!_ Sounds like Crowley was a bit lovely about it, though?”

“Crowley was my hero. Took care of everything. It was, well...let’s just say, if I hadn’t been head-over-heels already...”

Anacarried her plate to the sink, stopping, on the way, to hug Aziraphale’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’ve found someone so lovely. You deserve it. Especially, considering Adam, and after Gabriel. Not that I’ll ever tire ofbeing a one-woman pep squad for you, Az... but, I bet Crowley could rock some pom-poms...”

“That is... _quite_ the image, Ana dear. Could I possibly ask you to deliver Adam’s omelette? I’m not sure I’m up to it...”

Ana sighed. “I will, Az... but if you CAN do it, you probably should. _I_ know you aren’t ever going to abandon him- mores the pity _-_ but, _HE_ needs to know it, too...”

“You aren’t wrong, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed, and picked up the plate, and carried it upstairs.  


  
  


He knocked. 

  
  


Slowly the door opened.

“I know you hate me,” Adam said, moodily, snatching the plate out of Aziraphale’s hands.

“Adam, I don’t...” Aziraphale replied, but his voice did not carry the conviction he might have hoped. “...I love you.”

Adam glared. “Why? I know family means nothing to you. You abandoned your own parents! Held hate in your heart. Wouldn’t come to their funeral. So, if you don’t care about family, why would you love me?”

“I choose to love you,” Aziraphale replied. “You are a child. My sister’s child. I _choose_ to love you.”

Adam closed the door in his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are seashells on the beach.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: joking reference to being consumed by an animal, body image issues, serious boundary violation by a violent ex-partner, reference to bullying, aftermath of a fight, references to homophobia.

The week had brought some tiresome customers into the bookshop. And so, by Wednesday afternoon, even Ana and Aziraphale’s usual caper of pretending to be each other’s managers was wearing thin.

“Remind me to go on a Polar Expedition, the next time a famous sportsperson writes an autobiography,” Aziraphale muttered.

Ana shelved a return with a vengeance. “Which pole? What do you want to die by? Penguins or polar bears?”

“Tricky one,” Aziraphale replied, pretending to think. “You’d have to assume the polar bears would be quicker about it? And, the cubs are so _sweet!_ One almost wouldn’t mind, being their dinner.”

Ana snorted. “Ohh! _La-di-da!_ Do you think you’re too good for feeding baby penguins?”

“Chicks would be accustomed to healthful fish, my dear. Surely, I more constitutionally resemble a seal...”

“I’m telling Crowley you said that!” Ana retorted, rolling her eyes. “He hates it when you talk that way, about yourself. He’s going to give you _the look_. _You know_ the one I mean.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. I know the one. I might have the body of a baby harp seal, but Crowley has the eyes of one...”

Ana darted to the counter display and grabbed a reusable shopping bag, all giftable and tucked in its own little bag, and lobbed it at Aziraphale’s chest. “Stop it! You have a boyfriend! Why hasn’t that instantly and effortlessly, solved all of your self-esteem problems? What sort of sorry-ass princess in a tower _are you_ , Az?”

“Well, I shalln’t deny that Crowley is charming,” Aziraphale sighed. “And... _gallant_.”

“You try to work jousting into this metaphor, and, I’m taking another lunch break!” Ana replied as the bell, over the door, sounded. “ _Oh lord, what now..._ Hello! Welcome to... Oh! Hello Crowley!...”

As if on invisible strings, Aziraphale’s hands shot up to smooth his hair, and the front of his jacket. 

“...It’s lovely to see you,” Ana chirped, happily. “We were _just_ talking about you! Although, I must say, that is NOT a coincidence. Because Az monologues about you practically all day every... Honey? What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted up and he found himself rushing towards Crowley, even before he was fully conscious of the expression that Ana, too, had seen. “Dearest? Are you alright? Whatever is the matter?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Crowley assured them, voice trembling, but then continued immediately. “I went to do a quote, alone, and _he_ opened the door, and it was a new address, so I didn’t expect it, but it was _him_!”

“Him?”

“ _Luke_. He emailed me! _Lied_! Pretended to be a customer, and he opened the door, and...”

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry! What a ghastly shock! And a _horrible_ invasion.” Aziraphale replied, fidgeting at the edges of Crowley’s personal space, awaiting a sign that a hug was welcome.

And initially, Crowley _did_ wheel away from Aziraphale, bouncing on the balls of his feet and hyperventilating, running tense fingers along his own scalp. But then, more quickly still, he swung back again, into Aziraphale’s waiting arms, and clung to him.

Sobbing.

“He said...”

“Oh, my dear... my dear... it’s alright.”

“He said my hair had grown,” Crowley sniffed. “Asked if I had lopping shears in the van, and I...I ran away.”

Aziraphale carefully calibrated the strength of his embrace. He felt chilly secondhand fear, and also felt an instinct to squeeze Crowley much too hard. “What a _horrendous_ man! I’m glad you ran away, dearest. He doesn’t deserve another second in your presence.”

Crowley wiped his eyes with a tissue Ana had spirited into his hands. “I wasn’t ready. I never wanted to see him again and he was just... he did it ON PURPOSE! And I ran away, like a...”

“Darling, you did everything right...”

“... and, I was just driving around, and I wasn’t paying enough attention to be driving, and I knew it, but I needed you... I WANTED you... and I came here and...”

Crowley began frantically carding his hair with his fingers, trying to smooth it up into a pony tail. But the elastic band, taunt around his fingers, snapped, and bounced impotently against Aziraphale’s chest.  


  
  


Crowley sobbed louder, in frustration.

“I’ve elastics in my bag,” Ana soothed. “Hang on I’ll...” Her shoes clicked towards the office, and sounds of frantic rummaging emerged.

“How can we HEAR her rummaging?” Crowley wondered after a breathy moment, voice thick. “Does she keep the percussion section of the LSO in there?”

“It’s her keys,” Aziraphale replied, softly. “She never gets rid of any keys. She has a key for every door in every place she’s ever lived. On this utter snarl of key rings, all knotted together. It’s chaotic and pointless, and I love it, and her. And _you_.”

“He made me feel so _small_ , Angel,” Crowley whispered. “Like everything I’ve achieved since, learned since... everything I’ve gained... he...”

“Oh darling. I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale whispered back. “But you aren’t small. I’m confounded by your depths. Perpetually flooredby your dizzying heights. You are a whole dancing galaxy I can hold in my arms. _Anything_ but small.”

Crowley swallowed, his face a radiant sun-break. “Wow... that’s... that’s a line and a half! Is that written down in one of these books, somewhere?”

“Not to my knowledge, my dearest,” Aziraphale replied. “But, if you like, I could write it in one, and you could take it home...”

“Found one!” Ana burst back into the room, brandishing a hair elastic like a rare jewel. “It’s yellow, is yellow okay?”

Crowley’s eyes flicked back and forward between them, looking slightly, and _sweetly,_ overwhelmed.  


  
  


So, Aziraphale backed away, still smiling, amongst the bookcases. He considered glossy gardening volumes, pondered slim paperbacks of obscure poetry, but, at the last moment, his fingers chose a weighty hardback. _Chanel: The vocabulary of style_. Then, he went to his desk, and wrote his best recollection of whatever he’d said inside, signed his name, and held it open for the ink to dry. 

Crowley, his hair now stored safely in a messy bun,found Aziraphale there, and spoke quietly. “This hair tie isn’t _just_ yellow, it’s got a little plastic bumble bee on it! Have you _ever_ seen Ana wear such a thing? The mind _boggles!_ ”

Aziraphale gently pressed the book into Crowley’s hands. 

Crowley peered at it, for a moment, then almost unconsciously hugged it to his chest. 

“It’s quite a sweet little bee,” Aziraphale observd, eventually and gently. “Suits you...”

Crowley smiled. “Because, I’m a gardener?”

“That too...”

Then, Aziraphale’s phone rang.

* * *

Aziraphale’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Crowley was quiet and straight-backed, in the passenger seat, book in his lap.

Sitting behind them, Adam was unusually pale, and folded in on himself. Unusually _pensive_. He held his fist gingerly. A bruise bloomed under his eyebrow.

“What are you going to do to me?” Adam asked, hesitant in the thick silence.

Aziraphale shook his head tightly. “ _Do_ to you? The school has already suspended you, which Ifind I rather disagree with...”

Adam shrugged. “I _was_ fighting...”

“You were being _bullied_!” Aziraphale replied, the tightness in his voice making the word sound almost silly. Which Aziraphale _hated_.  He caught a flash of Adam’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“So, you _believe_ me?” the child asked, cautiously. “About what they said?”

Next to Aziraphale, Crowley made a soft, uninterpretable sound.

“Yes I do,” Aziraphale said. “And with words like _that_ being thrown around, who _actually_ threw the first punch seems a little... _academic_ to me, just now. And, as those words were likely brought upon you by me being your uncle, I suppose I’m...”

“No!” Adam interrupted. “No, it’s not your fault. This sort of stuff started ages ago. Before mum... before you were picking me up from school, or whatever.”

“Right,” Aziraphale replied, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

Adam wasn’t done. “I’ve... um... I’ve called _you_ some of those words...”

“That doesn’t matter, now,” Aziraphale replied, tightly. “It’s different.” 

  
Crowley’s hand brushed supportively against his.

Aziraphale glanced over, caught sight of Crowley’s hair, pulled tightly back,and, again, in the mirror, saw Adam’s eyes- _Azrael’s eyes_ \- large and liquid, staring back at him. His skin grew itchy and hot, and he was too angry, really, to drive. 

So, he pulled the car over, and then curled himself over the steering window, sucking in breaths.

He felt Crowley’s hand tracing circles on his itchy hot back. Heard Adam inching forward, towards him. The car blew air in his face.

“We are having a day, aren’t we? The three of us,” Crowley said, at last. “Who wants to go feed ducks? Let’s feed ducks!”

“Oh! I want to feed ducks,” Adam replied, quietly.

“Well, that’s a quorum!” Crowley declared. “Okay. Switch with me, Angel. I feel better now. Up for driving, anyway.”

On the way, Crowley stopped at a shop, and Aziraphale sent Adam in, with a twenty pound note.  


While Adam was gone, they leaned into each other, and waited, silently.  


  
  


Adam returned with frozen peas, an iceberg lettuce heart, and one other thing, that he handed to Crowley.

  
  
  
  
Aziraphale peered, warily, wondering what on earth his nephew might have handed over.

It was more yellow hair bands.

These bands were thick and fluffy, with plastic ducks attached, instead of a bee.

Crowley was staring at them, speechlessly.

“Thought you’d like them,” Adam shrugged. “And also, ducks. So _pertinent_.”

Crowley placed the hair bands carefully on top of the book, now resting on Aziraphale’s lap.

Then, they drove.

Then, they fed ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are big brown baby harp seal eyes!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Discussion of suicide (non graphic)/ loss of a parent to suicide, shitty theological opinions on suicide, references to religious homophobia, loss of religious faith, sexual content,

The following days proved that getting Adam to the bookshop, on time, was no easier than getting him to school, on time.  
  


“You could leave me home alone,” Adam said, with a shrug.  
  


“You aren’t ready for that,” Aziraphale muttered. He was doing resentful washing up, while Adam _glacially_ consumed Rice Krispies.  
  


“Plenty of kids my age stay home, alone,” Adam observed, neither finished chewing, nor swallowing, the previous mouthful.  
  


“Agh,” Aziraphale replied. “ _I’m_ not ready, then! Either way. No! _Eat_!”  
  


“Can I have another sliced banana on it?” Adam asked. He grabbed one, anyway. “And, can I ask you something? And you’ll tell the truth?”  
  


“Mmmm...”  
  


“Did my Dad kill himself?”  
  


Aziraphale dropped a mug. The handle broke off, and sent shards rattling along the floor. For a moment, all was perfectly still.  
  


“Oh, _butterfingers_!” Aziraphale named himself. He grabbed a tea towel. He knelt down. He fussed with sharp pieces of ceramic. Unfortunately, this did not, even nearly, buy him the lifetime of seconds it would take to avoid this question.

It wasn’t fair, really. He’d barely been a parent more than six months, but, Adam couldn’t exactly be distracted with jangling keys.

“Well?” Adam asked, impatiently. He’d put the spoon down.

Aziraphale finally understood he was not getting to work today. At least, not any time soon. 

  
  


  
“Well...um... _yes_. Probably. It’s not an entirely sure thing. _Could_ have been an accident. But, probably, yes. I’m so sorry, Adam. I didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

“Mum would _never_ talk about it,” Adam replied, flatly. He’d picked up his spoon again and was poking the Rice Krispies. They had long since stopped crackling. “She just said he was sick. And, she never said anything else. And she said it _weirdly_. And... one time, I heard her talking to someone on the phone.”

Aziraphale sat down, across from Adam. Azrael’s ghost, again childlike and unblinking, sat down, next to her son. _Glaring._ His heart ached at the resemblance of mother and son. _Sister_ and _nephew_.  


The same eyes. The same lopsided frown.  


Ghost Azrael was dressed for church. She wore the long, plaid skirt she’d hated. Too long, and too tight, to run in. And, her hair was pulled back, severely, and plaited down her back. 

He could still hear her voice, across the years. “ _No! I hate it! I can’t walk properly. These socks are awful! They itch._ ”

The church socks had been white, with lace trim. Azrael had been a master of getting them _filthy_ , even at church. Their mother had muttered. Had watched her like a hawk. In vain. A thick stench of bleach had filled the house every Sunday afternoon. 

_She never figured it out. But you did._

Aziraphale _had_ figured it out. Grease from the tracks of the windows in the Sunday school building. Rae had sucked her fingers clean.

Aziraphale took a breath, and made himself look at Adam, instead. “I’m sorry your mother wasn’t more open with you, Adam. Sometimes adults, when we are sad, don’t always have the right words...”

He stalled here, again, remembering facing Adam for the first time after the accident.   


_Someone_ _else_ had told him the news. A police officer, or a social worker, or something. Aziraphale hadn’t asked who. Or even how. He’d been _relieved_. 

“... we don’t always have the right words, and sometimes, because of that, we make the mistake of not being honest. And, your father’s death was very hard on your mother...”

“Because, she thinks he’s in Hell,” Adam interrupted, quietly, his voice betraying a shake.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Oh, I don’t know that she thought _that..._ ”

Adam shrugged, his voice flat, again. “ _I do_. I heard her. On the phone, remember.”

“Oh... _Adam_.I...”

“Mum will be in Heaven,” Adam continued. “She _has_ to be. She always did _everything_ right. And... and, I want to see her again. You understand, don’t you?”

Aziraphale didn’t. Not at all.  


  
  


“Adam, dear... I’m not certain what you are trying to tell me. But there are plenty of people, out there, who believe that BOTH your parents would be in Heaven, and...”

“I want my mum!” Adam exclaimed, suddenly, staring Aziraphale down, with furious eyes.

“Adam, I don’t know what you are asking for!”

“Church!” Adam demanded, his hands squeezing into fists.

Aziraphale felt his abdomen squeeze, as if he had taken a blow. “Adam...I _can’t_. I mean, _another_ church, we can do. _WILL_ do. But, I can’t go back to THAT church. I _can’t_.”

Adam, and his dead mother, were both watching him, closely. “I suppose they weren’t very kind to you there,” Adam observed, at length. 

“They...” but, Aziraphale couldn’t finish. Couldn’t talk, any more.  


  
  


That building. That place. The Words. Words that had settled in his chest.   


Settled with a sort of disquiet, until, with a burning horror, he had finally realised.   


Realised that the _vitriol_ , and the _brimstone_ , were for _him_.   


The agony of faith, ripped from his chest, dying. Sputtering out before him, amongst prayer books and hymnals.   


The lost organ music, now flat in his ears.

“Our minister says other churches weren’t strict enough,” Adam said, softly. “But, I suppose he would say that, wouldn’t he? Like advertising, or something. I guess I could...”

The Azrael Ghoul folded her arms across her chest.

“... do you think we could find a church you can wear trainers to?” Adam asked suddenly. “Brian says he can wear trainers, to _his_ church. And, church shoes are _stupid_. I mean Jesus wore sandals, didn’t he? Why would he care about polished shoes? If he did, he would have come NOW, wouldn’t he? So he could wear them? It doesn’t make _sense_ , otherwise.”

“I think...” Aziraphale managed to stammer out, softly. “...That church shoes are just something that _parents_ made up.”

“Not a lot of scriptural support for church shoes, is what you are saying?” Adam replied, and a slow, impish grin bloomed on his face.

“No...” Aziraphale replied. “Look... can you leave this with me? I won’t dawdle on it... just, give me a chance to find somewhere tolerable, or maybe ask Brian’s mother if you can go with them? I don’t know. I need to think about it, okay?”

“Okay!” Adam replied, eerily reasonably, as if he’d only even asked in the most casual of ways. He picked up his spoon, again, and renewed loudly chewing his cereal.

Aziraphale wasn’t even sure _how_ he managed to chew so loudly. He pulled out his phone and stared at it blankly...

...So he wouldn’t stare at Azrael’s ghost, instead.

* * *

And then, there was Crowley.

They lay on Crowley’s bed, and it was a game.  


Aziraphale was reading, aloud, from Hemingway, naked.  


Crowley’s head was rested on, and at times nuzzling into, the softness of Aziraphale’s thighs. He was also stroking Aziraphale’s penis, at approximately the same tempo as Aziraphale’s reading.

Should Aziraphale become distracted by this, and slow down, stammer, or stumble, Crowley would slow down, too.  


It was _fun_ , and _maddening_ , and _wonderful_ , and Aziraphale had no idea how they had ended up in this situation.  


He _did_ know that, very soon, he would be begging for mercy, that he would lose, and would be sweetly consoled with a kiss. Yet, summoning his stubborn streak, he plowed on, through the text, as best he could.

“Could be worse,” Crowley teased, at the chapter break. He had slept in braids, apparently, and his hair had held traces of that curl, all day. It billowed and waved. “You _could_ be reading me _Ulysses_. Imagine, if you were reading Molly Bloom’s Soliloquy? Imagine, if you were doing voices?”

And, it was too much, then. Too silly, too funny, too lustful and aching and agonizing and strange, and all these feelings with their strangestoichiometry, reacted, and exploded; and he laughed and howled and cried.

And Crowley chuckled and clucked and soothed. Spoke gentle nothings through pouted lips and twinkling eyes.

And then they kissed each other and clawed. Starving for each other, _aching_.  


Worship and consumption.

  
  


All the salt and musk of sex.

“I feel you,” Aziraphale told Crowley, over and over, not even sure what he meant.A liturgy, a plea, a prayer. “I feel you, I feel you.”

And, Crowley was quiet. The soul of concentration one moment, the spirit of sensation the next. 

“I feel you!”  
  


I feel you.  
  


i feel you

  
  


And then, it was later, and rain pattered against the windows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are your favourite tea, in your favourite mug, when no one else is awake.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: References to past physical and emotional domestic violence, references to boundary violations, past gender policing, internalized gender policing, internalized identity policing.

Aziraphale texted, guiltily ignoring Ana’s come-save-me eyes, as an elder customer dithered over which book in a series to buy. Kept asking Ana which their grandchild might have already read. As if Ana might, somehow, know. 

**_I bought shoes_ **

Aziraphale smiled. **That’s lovely, dearest.**

**_No. I said that wrong! What I mean to write was. I. Bought. SHOES!_ **

This time, a photo accompanied the words. Peep-toe, and ruby red, nestled in midnight blue tissue paper. 

**_What do you think?_ **

What Aziraphale thought about, naturally, was Crowley’s legs in those shoes. Those long, coltish legs, perhaps slightly splayed. Of slowly pampering those legs, an inch at a time, upwards. Quite a journey could be begun with those shoes.

Every muscle between Aziraphale’s knees and ribs seemed to warmly squeeze at once. He pressed his mouth together to contain a, nearly ejaculated, moan or a pant. He triple checked that his hips were angled modestly towards the counter.

**I think they are splendid, my dear. And, I think that, thinking about you wearing them, is rendering me almost unfit to be seen in public!**

**_I’ve wanted shoes like this forever_ **

**_But, they were too expensive. I don’t know why I bought them just now. But I’ve wanted them forever and... I think I have to return them_ **

Aziraphale felt himself pout. **I think, I must forbid you from returning them. If you are a little short this month, I’m sure I can cover a bill or two. You’ve wanted them forever, dearest. You must have them. I’ll pay, if you like. Make them a gift. You deserve a lovely gift, after the unpleasantness, last week. I wish I’d thought of it, actually.**

Instead of a reply, there was an incoming call from Crowley. 

Aziraphale heard the thickness of Crowley’s voice. _The sadness_. And found himself instantly cooing.

_“I feel ridiculous doing this to you.”_ Crowley murmured. “ _Like a child, begging for a toy, but...”_

“Darling, it’s quite settled. You _must_ have your shoes. Non negotiably. We can sort your bills out.”

“ _I don’t do stuff like this_.”

“No. You don’t. So this must be important. It’s alright...”

“ _But I can’t even explain! Except that I’ve wanted them forever. Except that Luke caught me looking once, at a similar pair,_ _and was furious with me. Not....’scissors furious’. But, he was still awful. Screaming at me, towering over me, in public._”

“Odious man...” Aziraphale muttered. 

A long sigh echoed down the connection “ _Maybe I’m not being fair to him, Angel. He did, sort of, apologise later. Explained how important being gay was, to him. How hard he’d had to fight for his identity... how he couldn’t have my little fetishes invalidate him._ ”

“What utter nonsense,” Aziraphale replied, unconsciously bristling. “Invalidating his identity with a pair of shoes! And even, if I were being charitable, his choices extended to dating you, or not dating you. Terrorizing you, in public or in private, is simply not on the table. About anything! But especially not about what _you_ wear on _your_ body!”

The sound Crowley made, was difficult to interpret over the phone. A soft, almost cat-like mewling. 

Aziraphale very intently wished Crowley was there with him. “Oh, my dearest...”

“ _Perhaps, that’s why I so suddenly had to buy them now,”_ Crowley continued, softly, and Aziraphale was certain now that Crowley was crying. “ _Because, I knew you would be kind about it...”_

“Dearest, I beg of you to keep those shoes. I’m not sure I do understand, exactly. But I don’t think I need to. I’m certain that finances can be managed, some other way. And, come over for dinner, if it suits you, please? I think I will worry about you, until I see you.”

Crowley sniffed. “ _What about Adam? You said he’s been moody, again...”_

“He has. Ever since we’ve discussed his father, he’s been moody, which, I suppose, is normal and fine, and expected. But, it’s also, somehow, really inexplicably terrifying? Regardless... it’s not a terribly small house. I’m sure Adam, and we two, can divvy it up between our respective moods, for one evening. Come, dearest. Please?”

Crowley hesitated, and Aziraphale’s heart burned. “ _Okay_.”

* * *

Adam was moody, yes, but not otherwise uncivil, when Crowley arrived, and he excused himself quickly. He did offer Crowley something approaching a smile, as he left for his room.

Crowley smiled back, a lot. An overreaction. The sun drowning out a candle. He was nervous.  


He’d arrived clutching the shoe box.

They were left with it now, on the table between them.  


Aziraphale didn’t understand quite what he was missing, but, it was clear, he was missing _something_ about those shoes. So, he resolved to do the only thing he could think to. To listen, with his whole heart.

And, Crowley baulked at first, at this intensity. But did not let the matter go. Tapping long delicate fingers, and licking anxiously dry lips.

Aziraphale waited, and tried to project love and patience. 

Crowley stared for a long time. “I don’t even understand what it is that I can’t say. It’s so frustrating.”

Aziraphale nodded. “The shoes, dear. Luke projecting his own insecurities on you. That you fear my reaction. Start anyplace you like. I want to hear what you want to say.”

“I was with him too long, I think,” Crowley replied with a sniff. “Luke, I mean. What he wanted of me, and what I wanted for me... they started to run together...”

“Like colours? Muddying each other?”

“... yes! No! I mean run together, like, in a herd, together? And then... natural selection... what I wanted... how I saw myself... it all got weeded out of that herd, somehow. And Luke’s ideas had offspring, and mine died young, and somehow... Oh, I’m not making any sense. A nd this metaphor is about to invoke the Geneva convention...”

“You _are_ making sense, my dear...”

“I’ve never understood it. Never looked at it too closely. But, I knew I liked my hair more as it grew. I knew my father hated it... that it meant more than hair, somehow... I’d let it fall on my shoulders and I’d feel more like me. And my mother never understood. She’d say, ‘it’s only hair’. She’d say she’d shave her hair bald for me, and so, why couldn’t I cut mine for her? To keep the peace. And, I couldn’t argue back, because I could never name that feeling. That sense of peace. How, with short hair, the word felt like ill-fitting shoes, and with long hair... it didn’t...”

Crowley’s eyes began to glisten, and Aziraphale’s did too, without any real permission. 

Their hands reached for each other.

“Luke allowed me the hair. But there was this... rule... one I can’t quite remember agreeing to ... but one I bent to. Over and over. Just the hair. _Only_ the hair. I got so anxious about it. Without ever allowing myself to think. One time, I let myself buy a coral coloured shirt. And, I left it in the bag until Luke noticed it. So he would _know_ it came from a men’s store. But, I never really thought about _why_ I did that.”

“And, there were always little things. Nothing like the... _scissor thing_. But, somehow, he’d always know if I was... anyway. I was walking on eggshells, even though he wasn’t, and we were supposed to be in the same room. He fitted me for eggshell shoes, I suppose. But, I didn’t _want_ eggshell shoes...”

“You wanted red ones,” Aziraphale finished gently, giving Crowley’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

Crowley was still nearly in tears, though. It wasn’t helping.

And Aziraphale still couldn’t understand why.

“My dearest,” Aziraphale sighed. “What’s bothering you?”

Crowley’s lips pulled tight. “I think... I think I need you to tell me how... _masculine..._ you need me to be.”

“Dearest, I don’t understand...”

Crowley’s hand slipped out of Aziraphale’s grasp.

“Just what I said, Angel! Luke had to _fight_ to be gay. He had to fight, so hard. Give up _so much_. He is a man who loves MEN, and won’t stand to have that challenged. Even on the edges. Even a bit.”

“Dearest, I already told you, I think your shoes are lovely... I _want_ you to have them...”

“But... you’ve suffered too! With your sister the way she was, I can’t believe your parents were any better than Luke’s.And, from what Adam’ssaid, Gabriel is practically hegemonic masculinity, carved in marble. So, I... if I’m not... I don’t know! Angel... I don’t know, exactly. I’ve never been allowed, or allowed myself, to...I...” And here, Crowley faltered. 

Aziraphale was quiet, gave him time, but in truth, already knew that Crowley was out of words. That it was up to him, now.

And, he still didn’t understand. Except that Crowley needed him, had just been reaching for him, in some currently unnamable way. And that, understanding or not, Aziraphale had to reach out, too.

“My dearest. How about this? I... am not certain of the edges of myself, any more than you are, just now. But, I know I love you. And, I know I don’t want you afraid of yourself, for another moment. So, to answer your question, from earlier. ‘How masculine do I need you to be?’ I need you to be _exactly_ as masculine as you want to be, and not a drop more. I think you are trying to tell me you can’t see the end, of the road you are on, right now. And, I hear you. Depending on where we end up, I can’t promise there won’t be problems with identities, and sexuality, and heaven knows what else. But... I won’t have you hiding in a shell, just because I might like that better. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. And, I won’t have it for you. So... whatever is coming, we face it, and we face it _together_. Just like anybody else.”

Crowley nodded. A few tears spilling.

Aziraphale gently brushed them away. “Show me your pretty shoes, dearest. Don’t let them be spoiled by heaviness.Or, better, let’s burn the receipt, together. A promise to move forward.” 

“You are a bit ridiculous,” Crowley sighed, with a smile. “And it’s an electronic receipt.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Gracious! There’s a WiFi printer, but imagine asking Adam for the password, and explaining why we wanted it!”

Crowley chuckled. “He’d probably run away and join the circus! And, he’d do great there. And his little dog, too! Famously heteronormative, circuses!”

Aziraphale smiled, and managed to catch Crowley’s hand again.

Crowley stared at him deeply. “You called me ‘dear boy’ at the beginning. And,  somewhere along the way, you switched to just saying ‘dearest’.”

Aziraphale gently reached out and smoothed an errant tangle of red hair. “Which do you prefer? Would you like me to switch back? Or...”

“No... don’t change it,” Crowley replied softly. “I was just...just _saying_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are those shoes you’ve always wanted.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Discussion of violence, discussion of bullying, preteens interpretations of theology, after effects of alcohol, passing allusions to homophobia and transphobia

“Well, say it,” Adam sighed. “Say ‘ _Adam, no fighting_ ’. That’s what we are sitting here for, isn’t it?”

They were sitting in Azrael’s estate car, outside the school, the first morning after the end of Adam’s suspension.Adam had climbed into the front seat this morning, and Aziraphale hadn’t stopped him.

He was tall. It was fine, wasn’t it? There _was_ an airbag... 

Azrael’s ghost was displeased, at being displaced to the back seat, and wasn’t speaking.  


They were parked under a tree and there was a slight breeze. Enough to dislodge the little seed pods, but not enough to blow them clear of the car. Every few seconds there was a soft _plink_ on the roof.

And Aziraphale didn’t know why they were sitting there, either. “Well....”

“No hitting, Adam!” Adam mocked. “No beating up puppies! Sticks and stones may break your bones but _yadda, yadda, yadda!_ ”

“We’re a bit past that, now, aren’t we?” Aziraphale exhaled. “You and I? We both know words can hurt a great deal. And, I think we both know, that there are very few simple truths about the universe that fit into sappy little rhymes.”

Adam blinked at him. And then sighed. Shoulders falling. “Yeah. I’ve never liked that one. Besides, did you know? There’s this verse in the Bible that says, if you denounce the Holy Spirit even once, you are damned forever, and you can’t fix it? _Not ever_? So, if words can send you to Hell, _forever_ , how could they possibly never hurt you?”

“I think interpretations of that verse differ...” Aziraphale replied, hoping the morning did not contain much more theology, because he wasn’t sure he had it in him. He certainly didn’t have enough caffeine in him.

“So, you _have_ heard of it, then?” Adam replied. “I didn’t believe Warlock, when he told me, at first. I thought he was lying. But he said, ‘look it up’. And I went to the library, at lunch, and it was true.”

“ _You_ went to the _library_?” Aziraphale replied, affecting shock. “No, never mind that. Did you say ‘Warlock _’?_ Who is _Warlock_?”

“Just some boy.”

“Some boy called _Warlock_?!”

Adam’s shoulders crept back up to his ears. “Yeah, whatever! Forget I ever mentioned him, alright?”

“Alright!” Aziraphale could but shrug. 

Adam exhaled. “So, don’t fight, yeah? That’s the lecture?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. The lecture was... _he had no fucking idea_.  


“The lecture is,” he began anyway. “Choose how you want to react to people. Be _mindful_ , I mean. And yes, try not to fight. But, not because fists hurt, and words don’t. But, because violence can have unexpected effects, that can be irreversible, very quickly. With words... with words, there is usually more time. Time for you to call me. To get to you. To have your back. That’s why. Words can often be fixed with more words. Violence never with more violence. End lecture.”

Adam was staring. 

He stared at Aziraphale for so long, and so hard, that Aziraphale grew uncomfortable, and unconsciously checked in the rear view mirror to see what he had trapped in his teeth.

Almost the moment his eyes slid away from Adam, though, he heard the car door click shut, and Adam was gone.

* * *

“Sorry, I’m late, Ana dear. First day back at school. And, I’d promise it won’t happen again, but, we both know I’d be lying...”

Ana looked bleary and greenish. “You _are_ the boss, Az.”

“Yes, well, technically speaking...” Aziraphale called from his office where he was draping his coat over the chair. “But, my dear, I hope you know that...”

Ana held up a finger, as he emerged back into the shop. “Az, please. Whisper. I beg of you. If you have ever loved me, _whisper_.”  
  


“Oh Ana, I don’t know how to tell you,” Az whispered. “But, my heart belongs to another...”

Ana massaged her temples. “But, I have given you all the best years of my youth! _Never mind_. Know how you can make it up to me? With _quiet_. Blessed, sacred, _quiet_.”

“Happily, dear...”

Ana smiled.

“...except...”

Ana’s head fell forward. “What? What is it, you monster?”

“Ana, do you know who Warlock is?”

Ana lifted her head and glared. “Seriously? _Today_? Ugh... fine. Warlock is a kid in Adam’s class.”

“There’s a kid in Adam’s class called _Warlock_?”

“Yes, there is, _Aziraphale_! For I, your friend _Anathema,_ have just told you this! Technically, his real name is Thaddeus, after his Dad. Because, Dad is _that sort_. And, Dad wants him to go by Junior, because Dad is _that sort_. And Warlock has elected to, instead, get everyone to call him Warlock. Because, Warlock is _THAT sort_.”

“Right. So...he’s...?”

“He’s a tall, rich, American kid, with long, dark, floppy hair, and bad-boy energy, Az. What do you want from me? He’s one of the cool kids. He heard Adam and Pepper discussing your Crowley, thought they were discussing Aleister Crowley, and decided that _they_ were cool. Adam is too bumfuzzled to tell him the truth, and Pepper thinks the whole thing is hilarious.”

Aziraphale frowned. “So... while he’s begging me to find him a church, at school he’s running around with an American occultist?”

“Welcome to parenthood!”

“Do I want to know what bumfuzzled means?”

“Az, I’m _begging_ you. My brain might literally have split in half...”

“Technically, everyone’s brain is....”

“ _Az_!” Ana whined, over three syllables.

“Oh, fine. I’ll do the taxes. That’s quiet. ” Aziraphale muttered. “ _Warlock_ , indeed.”

Ana snorted. 

* * *

“Oh, my dear! You are wearing them!” Aziraphale exclaimed, catching sight of Crowley’s shoes. The foyer of Barbican centre hummed with people. “Dearest, I’m so _proud_ of you!”

Crowley’s lips twitched into a smile. “Thanks. I figured, if this concert goes south, I can always click my heels three times, and get us home!”

Aziraphale took reached for Crowley’s hand and kissed it. “Always thinking ahead, my dear. Although, I feel I must mention, that it was silver shoes that Dorothy wore, in the book. When they made the film, they changed it to ruby slippers, in order to show off their glorious technicolor!”

“Oh! Same reason I wear them, then!” Crowley laughed. “And, my word, Angel! How _do_ you come to know these things?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve been a rather good _Friend of Dorothy_ for years, now.”

“Oh, very good!” Crowley snorted. “I mean it. Golf claps for you!”

“Hold your applause, dearest,” Aziraphale replied with a little bow. “You walked me straight to it, after all.”

“I don’t know, Angel,” Crowley demurred. “If you are trying to make me the Straight Man in this Comedy Duo, I can think of _at least_ two problems...”

“Well, quite,” Aziraphale agreed easily. “And, if you like, let’s get some champagne, to toast to that.”

They moved toward the bar, Aziraphale automatically auditing the crowd. All was _fine_ , though, or at least _fair_. There were a few people deliberately _not looking_ , yes, but also some warmth and appreciative glances, and the bartender, who looked maybe five minutes older than Adam, gave them a particularly bright smile.

Aziraphale bought Crowley a glossy program, because he felt like it.

Crowley held it collarbone height and sipped the champagne. “Do you like the rest of the outfit? I got the idea from the book you gave me. Then, raided the local charity shops. Then, begged to use the sewing machine of the old lady, across the way. Then, was pathetic with it, until she helped me. This is called a peplum! It gives the illusion of hips.”

“You do look stunning, dearest. But I must protest that your hips are anything but illusory. I’ve given them very careful study.”

“Charmer!” 

The concert’s music was Mendelssohn, starting off with _The Hebrides_. Something about it had always made Aziraphale cry, and tonight was no exception.

“Did you know it was inspired by a real sea cave,” Crowley whispered to him. “On Staffa. We should go one day. There are puffins.”

Aziraphale nodded, sniffed, and smiled.

The music changed to _Symphony no. 3_.

* * *

The music was still spiraling in Aziraphale’s head, and Crowley’s body was hard and soft and bony and pliant. His own lips swelled and throbbed, at the taste of that skin.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful”. He gently hooked one of Crowley’s legs over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by the textural paradox of the thigh.

Crowley’s head shook, tears welled. “I’m alright, though. Please don’t stop. Please.”

Aziraphale slowed regardless, cautious.

Crowley’s shaking, grasping fingers reached for him. Pulled him closer.

“Please,” Crowley whispered, over and over. Reedy. An oboe. Harmonizing with the music in Aziraphale’s head. 

Please.

Yes.  
  


  
_please?_

_yes!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are champagne at the symphony! 
> 
> (And, like champagne, can they please not contain any sexually violent imagery? I hate deleting comments, but I don’t want that stuff in my space, please!)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Nightmare imagery of a car accident and aftermath including injuries; nightmare imagery of sibling death; grief; gender policing; public stranger aggression: internalised gender norms

Azrael was under the car. He could see her.  


She should have been in middle-aged, but she wasn’t. She was child aged again. 

  
Her neck, however, was still bent at a horrifying angle. An angle that Aziraphale should have _known_ was lethal. There was still blood in her hair.   


She should have been dead.  


She _had_ been dead.  


But, just now, she wasn’t.

Her child-face was talking. Screaming. Her thick eyebrows contorted in rage.

He couldn’t hear her.  
  


_Aziraphale_!

“Aziraphale? Angel?”

Now, he was in a room with Crowley.

_Dreaming_...

“Dreaming, Angel,” Crowley was whispering. “I think it was a dream.”

Aziraphale sighed, and wiped at his brow. The sweat there made him self-conscious. He felt hot, and worked one leg out, from under the blanket. “Oh, dearest. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No,” Crowley whispered back, softly, in the darkness. “I was awake, already. And you were quiet, ‘til just a moment ago.”

“I _am_ sorry, though, dearest. It was Azrael, you see.”

“Your sister?” Crowley’s lips gently brushed Aziraphale’s cheek bone. “You said that you weren’t close, but that you were there when she died..?”

Aziraphale nodded. Pressed his lips together. “That’s right. We’d been estranged, for a while. But, when Adam was born, she... and we had lunch, every so often. Or I’d drop around with a gift. More often, towards the end. It was....”

“I’m glad you got to spend a bit more time with her,” Crowley whispered. “Towards the end...”

“Ahhh! But, if she hadn’t wanted to get back in touch, she’d still be alive, you see.” 

“You can’t know that, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “She might have met someone else there, that day, instead. Maybe, when your number’s up...”

“Oh dearest, but don’t you see? I was sitting on the other side of the table, a few feet away, and I was barely hurt at all. A wound on my leg... a few stitches, a blow to the head.  


“I could have walked away from it, if the bystanders hadn’t all insisted I stay still. They told them on the phone to keep me still... I think.  
  
“Someone told me Azrael was dead, that I couldn’t help her. But I remember thinking that they were mistaken, that I could _see_ her breathing. At the hospital, they said she would have died instantly... but, I could have _sworn_ I could see it. I suppose, I wanted to badly enough that...”

“Oh, that’s awful, Angel,” Crowley whispered, administering a few more kisses, gentle, frantic. “I’m _so_ sorry. That must have been..”

“Didn’t feel real. It was too strange, to be real. That things could have changed so much, in just a few seconds. It _couldn’t_ be real, except that it was! And, the driver. I don’t think I even looked at the driver. The police asked me, and I couldn’t even say the first thing, about the driver. Someone said, later, the driver just sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel. That a paramedic pried their fingers off the wheel.  


“But, I don’t remember that and I can’t remember who told me. Sometimes, I think I can picture it, but I wouldn’t have _seen_ it, and I wouldn’t have known the driver from... well, I can’t say _from Adam_... but... from a bar of soap, I guess? And, in the dream, Azrael was a child, and... and...”

He ran out of details then, of accident and dream both. His memory rejected both. Refused to log or order either. He sniffled, and heard that he was crying.

“I’m so sorry, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “So sorry.” 

“I used to dream that I’d saved her. Pulled her out of the way, in time. Haven’t had that one in a while. And, it’s nonsense. I didn’t even SEE it, before. The car, I mean. And... even after they told me she was dead, the only thing I could think was, that I wasn’t holding the funeral at her church. I knew she’d want it there.. that maybe Adam would find it comforting to have it there. But, I just _couldn’t_ do it. He’s never asked why we didnt... but he will, one day, won’t he? And what will I be able to say?”

Crowley stopped murmuring I’m sorry, then, and just held him. Waiting.

But, there was nothing else to say.

Aziraphale _meant_ to say, that it was alright. That Crowley could go back to sleep. To not worry about him. 

But he didn’t quite manage.

He wasn’t quite sure which of them fell back to sleep first. 

And, if he dreamed again, he did not remember.

* * *

The shop was almost empty. Which, as it turned out, was lucky.  


Aziraphale had just sent of a collector with an early edition of an Edmund Burke treatise. It split hairs between the beautiful and the sublime, and Aziraphale was rather glad to have it off his hands.

All that remained, was a harried young father, imploring his young children to select a book to share. Sharing would be no mean feat, as there appeared to be some four years between them.  


Still, things appeared to be progressing, until the younger child, in a watermelon patterned pinafore dress caught sight of a glossy picture book with a llama on the cover. “Whama!” she declared joyfully, dropping her current book of interest and embracing the new object of her affection. “Whama!”

Her brother smiled indulgently and shelved his own selection. “This one Titch has got,” he told his father. “That’s what we want.”

And Aziraphale burst into tears.

  
  


And couldn’t stop.

For a few seconds, the father reacted to Aziraphale’s tears with a sort of awkward, falsely jolly, good humour. 

But then, things... _shifted_.

The father began to bristle and draw himself upward, placing himself between Aziraphale and the children. “Oy! Knock it off...” 

Behind him, the bristling man’s son placed himself between his sister and her angering father.

Aziraphale could see white all around the man’s eyes.

And then, Ana was there. Between Aziraphale’s and the man. Her hands raised. Palms open and flat.

For a moment, they were all frozen, in their ugly tableaux. Then, the little one, Titch, began to gulp uncertainly, and a moment later, to howl. 

Ana pushed Aziraphale, still sobbing uncontrollably, into the office, pulled the door mostly closed. She paused for just a second. Caught a single tear with her forefinger. Then she turned, and walked briskly back to the customer. 

Aziraphale could hear _some_ of what followed.  


Ana’s whispers. _Sister. Accident. Alfresco cafe. Maybe you saw it on the news?_

Aziraphale bit his finger, to muffle himself long enough, to take a quick glance. 

The man, he saw, had deflated, somewhat. Ana was walking him to the door, sliding Titch’s llama book into a paper bag. He saw her sweep up the book the boy had shelved, as she passed, and slip that into the bag, too.  


  
  


She ushered them out. And, immediately, locked the door, with a furious twist of her wrist.  Screamed “Asshole!”, through her teeth.

Then, she came to find Aziraphale. “Hey... let’s close now, yeah?” she said, softly. “That fancy philosophy edition will keep us off the breadline today.”

From her bag, Ana produced a bottle of red wine. It clinked against her keys on the way out. The label was a seahorse. She poured them each a glass, into the white coffee mugs.  


Those mugs would likely be bearing the stains of this day, for a quite while.

“I’m on the list allowed to pick up Adam, yeah?” Ana asked. “Cause, I think _I_ should go get him. I didn’t pour myself a big one. See?”

She showed him the wine. It was dark, in the mug, in the office. Hard to tell from coffee.

“You drink yours, though,” Ana continued. “Settle your nerves.” 

Aziraphale took a shaky sip. 

“Azrael?” Ana asked, then, as if she hadn’t already explained it to the customer. Hadn’t already _known_.

“I had a dream,” Aziraphale sighed. “And, I was feeling awful about the funeral...”

“Az, we’ve...”

“And then, the little girl... and her brother. The book...” 

As if Ana hadn’t already _seen_.

Ana squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll go do the pick up. You just drink that. Ignore the door. I’ll flip the sign.”

Aziraphale gulped a mouthful of wine. A flavour, like burnt berry, stung his tongue. He was still crying. He wondered if the wine would dehydrate him enough to stop it. He chuckled, painfully, at the thought.

He wanted Crowley.

He reached for his phone. 

There was a text already there. **_Ana called. Be there, ASAP_**

“A sap,” Aziraphale thought, although he knew what Crowley meant. “That sounds like me.”

His head was starting to ache. From the histamine. Histamine from the wine, or from the crying, he had no idea.

Azrael stood in the corner. Younger than he’d ever seen her ghost. Titch’s age.

_Read to me, ‘Zirafell._

She had liked _The Owl and the Pussycat_. He had read it so much he had known it by heart. Still did. Eventually, he’d made up his own tune, and sung it to her, instead of reading. 

_I’m the owl_ , she’d say. _And you’re the turkey_.

She’d laughedand laughed. 

Not quite enough time seemed to have passed, before Ana arrived back with Adam.  


Time was strange, and reality was, also, not _quite_ behaving.  


Aziraphale was, therefore, less surprised than he might have been, when Adam launched himself at him, for an unexpected hug.

“I miss mum, too!” Adam exclaimed. “All sorts of things make me think of her. A kid at school today had a marmite sandwich, and she used to make those for me. And, it’s her birthday on Friday. Do you think that’s why?”

Aziraphale honestly hadn’t made the connection, until that moment, but he found himself nodding. “I’m suspect it didn’t hurt,” he said. And then. “Am I making you the wrong sandwiches? Jam, instead of marmite? Should I be...”

“No!” Adam laughed. “Don’t you dare! Everyone is so jealous!” And for a moment he squeezed Aziraphale a little harder.

  
  
  
“Did your mother ever read you a poem?” Aziraphale asked. “About an owl and a cat in a green boat?”

  
  


Adam blinked at him. “I thought it was a song, not a poem! But yeah. She used to say that she was the owl, and my dad was the cat. And that grandfather was the pig in the wood, and you, sorry but, you were the turkey?”

Aziraphale sniffed, chucking. “Yes. I _WAS_ the turkey. I’ve never known why, mind you! And, did you mind that you weren’t in the poem? I mean, the song?”

Adam smiled. “I did ask always ask her who _I_ was. She would hug me, and say that I was the light of the moon. I made her tell me every time. I liked that...”

  
  


Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, I imagine you did.”

  
  


”...Better than being the turkey, anyway.”

  
  


And then, Crowley arrived, carefully balancing a cardboard tray, with five cups of cocoa.   
  


“‘Bout time YOU showed up,” Adam observed.

  
  


Ana caught the giggles. 

  
  


Aziraphale looked back to the corner, but the ghost wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are the song that you hear before you sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: homophobia, transphobia, passing reference to alcoholism and alcohol related death, coded discussion of gender issues, use of a reclaimed queerphobic slur.

The soccer team had become a cricket team, as these things sometimes did, with the changing of the seasons. There was now _even more_ gear to forget. And it was even harder to wash. 

Aziraphale was still bringing cut oranges, even though he wasn’t sure if that, too, was supposed to change with the season. Should it be strawberries, now? Or was that only tennis? Strawberries had been so much more expensive when he was young. Not that he’s ever played cricket...Or tennis, or....

“Well, I’m sure I’d be very happy for Adam to come to church with us,” Brian’s mother replied to him, interrupting this particular fruit-themed spiral.

_Fruit loop_ , prompted Azrael’s ghost.  


Still primary-school aged, she was sitting on a vacated folding chair. Kicking her legs. Watching her son attempt to spin bowl. 

“Oh, marvellous! And, such a relief! Thank you, dear lady.” Aziraphale replied, pointedly ignoring his sister. 

Brian’s mother smiled, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Oh, and you needn’t worry. Our church is very _understanding_ about your sort of thing. Your _situation_. We even had a pair of lesbians, once! Lovely girls. Especially the little one! I wasn’t wild about the blue hair, though. It doesn’t set a good example.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale replied, noncommittally. “It will be suchan enormous help. So kind of you. And, to share the load, perhaps we could bring Brian to cricket on Saturdays?”

The woman’s smile grew rictal. “ _Oh no!_ I couldn’t possibly...”

Aziraphale sighed. “Friends and family discount at the bookshop, then!” he replied, as amiably as he could.

Brian’s mother’s face said, very clearly, _Thank_ _you for understanding!_

Aziraphale did not tip the bowl of orange quarters over her head.

Instead, he texted Crowley. **My dear. I fear, I do not much like people, today.**

**_Agreed_**! came Crowley’s reply. **_People are terrible! That’s why I only date Angels now_**

Aziraphale closed his eyes, against a swell of emotion.  
  


His eyes were still closed whenAdam barrelled onto him. “Did you see? I got a wicket, did you see?”

“I did, yes!” Aziraphale lied baldly. “A most excellent wicket. Well done, you!”  
  


“I reckon it spun!” Adam continued. “Do you think it spun?”  
  


“Hard to tell, from my angle...” Aziraphale replied, somewhat truthfully.

“I still miss soccer, though!”

“Me too,” Aziraphale replied, eyeing some grass stains on the white cricket uniform. “Are oranges the right fruit?”

Adam stared. “Of course they are! You _always_ bring oranges. What are you talking about?”

“No idea, really,” Aziraphale replied. “And you can go with Brian tomorrow. To church. I asked.”

“Gotta go stay warm...” Adam replied. “Because... _I’m On Fire_! Great, about church! Did you ask about the shoes?”

“I will!” Aziraphale replied, tiredly.

He wouldn’t. 

* * *

  
  


“Poor Angel,” Crowley pouted. Lip gloss glistened.

Under the table, one of Crowley’s feet brushed Aziraphale’s leg.

Aziraphale exhaled contentedly.“You look like Veronica Lake, with your hair like that.”

Crowley sniffed. “Veronica copied me! There was a time-machine involved. It was a whole _thing!”_

“And then, she drank herself to death!” Aziraphale observed, sipping his shiraz.

“I’m _certain_ it was the guilt, poor thing,” Crowley sighed. “And, with that, we exhaust my knowledge of Old Hollywood. So tell me, Angel, what _happened_ today?”  
  


Aziraphale sighed, and dabbed his face self consciously with a napkin. “Nothing _happened_. Just those little things. The things where, if you make a fuss, you seem dramatic and overly-sensitive?”  
  


  
  


“I believe the kids are calling those ‘micro-aggressions’,” Crowley observed, with a wry smile.  
  


“And I could, quite happily, never watch another children’s sport match, as long as I live.”

Crowley smiled. “As opposed to your enduring love for adult’s sporting matches?”

“I used to like the Olympics,” Aziraphale replied. “But, only the really unusual sports... and now, I don’t even like that. Did something happen to the Olympics, along the way?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley sighed. 

“Well, never mind that, anyway. How was your day?”

“Got in a bit of an argument with a hydrangea,” Crowley replied, gently, twirling a fork. “Which is unusual. Normally, I get on with hydrangeas...”

“Is it true that hydrangeas can change, from blue to pink, depending on whether the soul is acidic or alkaline?”

“Oh, well, that depends, Angel,” Crowley replied, back straightening. “On whether you are _really_ asking about _flowers_...”

Aziraphale blinked. “ _Oh!_ I didn’t mean... I _was_ really asking about flowers. _Genuinely_.”

“Good!” Crowley laughed. “Because, I did not want to have a flower-themed argument, in public. I’m all for leaning into cliche, but...”

“Would it have been?” Aziraphale interrupted, awkwardly. “An argument, I mean?”

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know. It _is_ my sworn duty to strike down terrible metaphors. Wherever and whenever they may strike!”

“That’s quite the sacred calling,” Aziraphale laughed. “Lucky you didn’t become an English teacher!”

“ _Very_ lucky! And, you are sort of right, about the hydrangeas. But this argument I had with this hydrangea wasn’t soil PH based. it was on the topic of slugs. It was determined to shelter the things, even though they were eating it alive. I had to make it see sense.”

“Self care _is_ important.”

“Very important, Angel. Yes.”

“I never know which fruit to bring to Adam’s cricket matches.”

“Which fruit?” Crowley smiled. “Well, _me_ , obviously. But didn’t we just talk about bad metaphors? I’m going to have to smite you now!”

“Oh, yes please!” Aziraphale replied with his very best purr. “Twice, if you can manage...”

Crowley laughed. “Let’s have dessert first.”

* * *

Ana set a cup of tea on the counter in front of him. “You look pensive today, Az.”

Aziraphale blinked. The smell of bergamot curled around him. “Oh, lovely, dear! Thank you. And yes, I suppose I am, rather.”  
  


“Regarding?”

“Crowley.” Az sighed. He did not miss the surprised spring of Anathema’s eyebrows.

“Really? Bloom off the rose _already_?”

  
  


“Oh no, dear,” Aziraphale replied, honestly aghast that he had, even so much as, created that impression. “Nothing could be further from it. Indeed, in rather then opposite direction, do we find our thesis. I had a slightly unpleasant encounter, with Brian’s mother. And, Crowley sort of made a joke, about coming to Adam’s cricket matches, and I...”

“Don’t know what to do..?”

“Oh, no dear. I _know_ what to do. Take Crowley, and Brian’s mother can go soak her head... but...”

“Newt and I will come too,” Ana replied. “Newt’s very good at pretending not to understand bigots. And politely asking them to repeat themselves, until they shut up. And, you _know_ I have a stare to be reckoned with.”

Aziraphale smiled. “And, bless you for it, dear. One does rather wish, however, that it wasn’t _quite_ so necessary, to be so _quite_ so brave, over the simple matter of a children’s sport match, but.... “

“But, there are the protests, and the riots, and the marching in the streets... and then, there are the children’s cricket matches, and the parent teacher conferences, and ducking into department store bathrooms,” Ana finished. 

And somehow, the strange, disquiet cloud that had settled over Aziraphale’s heart, lifted.  


He knew how to do this, after all. 

* * *

Adam dissected his ravioli. “Brian sent a message. Said he was sorry, if his mum was a bit rubbish.”  
  


  
Aziraphale nodded, but couldn’t quite manage any further answer. He realised he was dissecting his own ravioli, as well. “I think Crowley would quite like to come to your match, next week,” he said, keeping his voice carefully even.

Adam, though. Adam wasn’t fooled, by his casual tone, for a moment. He paused, carefully, before answering. “I... As long as neither of you shout at the ref. It’s _so embarrassing_ when people do that.”

They looked at each other, for a quiet moment. It was Aziraphale that looked away first, because it was that or collapseinto messy, heartfelt tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are homemade pasta that someone else homemade!


End file.
